As Fate Would Have It
by lady-gilrin
Summary: How do you overcome the embarrassment of accidentally telling the King of Rohan you fancy his big, hard muscles? By avoiding him til death of course. But it's a hard thing to do when fate keeps throwing you together... Eomer x Lothiriel romance
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Minas Tirith,

April 3019, T.A.

Lothiriel had been in denial.

She did not know she had been in denial until she happened to chance upon Eomer, King of Rohan, sparring with some men in the courtyard.

Shirtless.

Unable to tear her gaze away from the play of muscles shifting under sun gold skin, her eyes followed the rivulets of sweat as they tracked paths among the plains of his abdomen. She was intrigued by the faint dusting of golden hair on his chest and even more intrigued by the small trail that disappeared below the waist of his trousers.

Lothiriel swallowed thickly as she mentally acknowledged she was no longer in denial.

She was attracted to the king of Rohan, plain and simple.

Apparently, something about his brutish strength, hulking figure, and simmer of emotions barely leashed behind a dark glower 'fired her forges', as her friend, Miwien would say.

Why?

Lothiriel was more perplexed by her revelation than anything.

Her tastes had always run towards articulate, well-dressed and humorous Gondorian men possessing a touch of fashionable ennui and cynicism. Clean-shaven men with a lean, healthy physique, not overly tall or overwhelmingly large. Men who recited poetry and gazed at constellations and spent their time in scholarly pursuits.

But life was confusing and Lothiriel felt drawn towards Eomer who was neither scholarly nor humorous. As far as she knew, he didn't care about poems, stars or fashion. He wasn't articulate. He wasn't even clean-shaven, having a well-trimmed beard that admittedly made Lothiriel want to run her hands through just to see what it would feel like. And he was most definitely overly tall and overwhelmingly large, towering well above her own petite frame, exuding strength and power that attested to his prowess as a warrior and king. Her own father and brothers were tall, strong men but next to them Eomer was like a bear.

It was ridiculous, the attraction she felt for this gruff arrogant man. Ridiculous, because Lothiriel was fairly sure he didn't even like her.

They had been introduced at a feast, following the end of the war. Eomer had hardly said two words to her. Her father, having struck a friendship during the war, invited him to dine with them a few days later. He said 'Good evening, my lady' and then barely glanced at her for the rest of the night. At first, she assumed he had an aversion to females (despite being a brother to one), and yet he had been perfectly polite when dealing with her sister-in-law and even managed to carry on a conversation with her. She ascertained that he hardly saw her as worthy of his notice or interest; for him she was just a friend's daughter, a noble lady who should be handled with courteous disinterest and nothing else.

Lothiriel, suffering from a bruised pride for some unfathomable reason, had passed the rest of the dinner by fantasizing ways to take him down a peg or two. She thought of accidentally-on-purpose spilling her wine on his white as moonlight tunic. She imagined dying the horse hair of his helmet pink. She thought of replacing all his ale with water, and putting salt in his tea, she thought of cutting his hair in his sleep and stealing all his left boots.

By the time the dessert course was served, Lothiriel had come up with an elaborate scheme to drug him with a concoction made of dumb cane plant extract that would swell his tongue in such a way that he would temporarily go dumb.

However, imagining the mighty king of Rohan being unable to speak was hardly amusing, since the man was already so taciturn. But then dinner ended, and Eomer went away to his lodging at the citadel and Lothiriel never saw him again.

That is, she did see him occasionally but always from a distance as she went about her day and he with his. The sight of him always left her slightly flushed and uncomfortable, and Lothiriel thought it was because she had an acute dislike of him.

Oh, she had so been in denial.

"What are we looking at?" Lothiriel was startled out of her thoughts by the cheerful voice of her friend, Miwien, suddenly coming from behind. "My, the delicious Rohirric riders are out training. Why did you not send for me?"

They were standing in an archway surrounded by vines and trees. It looked towards the training courtyard just a few yards away, and yet was partially hidden from view. Lothiriel realized that caught in such a place, looking at shirtless men, could be interpreted in the wrong way. As if she was _peeping_, which she supposed she was, but still. She didn't want other people to think that, especially not her friend Miwien who wasn't exactly known for her closed lips.

Trying to control her flush Lothiriel tore her eyes away from Eomer and turned towards her friend with a schooled expression. Miwien was older, and the daughter of the illegitimate son of a noble. Blunt and outspoken, she possessed endless bounds of energy that kept landing her in one scrape or another. They had met by chance and become fast friends when Lothiriel had come to apprentice in the Houses of Healing five years ago and Miwien had been brought in for a broken ankle. She claimed to have hurt it while dancing, but later confessed to Lothiriel that she broke it while climbing down her bedroom window and landing on it badly. Why was she climbing out her window? To sneak away for a ride, because she was forbidden to leave her room by her mother. Why could she not leave her room? She was being punished for calling a court lady 'pompous parrot' after she called Miwien's father a bastard.

To be fair, the court lady in question did resemble a parrot and was quite pompous, in Lothiriel's opinion.

"Miwien, I was just on my way back from the Houses," Lothiriel said, smiling at her friend, trying to appear indifferent. "Mistress Ioreth wanted my help with making a batch of salves."

"And you stopped to take in the view." Miwien nodded, "I don't blame you, dear. They don't make men like _those_ in Gondor. If they did, I would have taken the healer apprenticeship with you to learn some practical anatomy, if you get my meaning."

Miwien grinned unabashed, looking at the practicing men in appreciation. Her friend was the kind of person who was blunt to a fault. She had a habit of speaking first, thinking second which was quite endearing because Miwien tended to say the most amusing things sometimes.

She had never married, despite possessing a subtle beauty and an abundance of charisma and wit. Miwien had beautiful auburn hair and warm round eyes that seemed to always sparkle. She was petite with a peaches-and-cream complexion and a charming dusting of freckles on her nose.

And yet she had never had honorable offers of marriage, just because of the circumstances of her father's birth. Her family was well-respected by the nobility of Minas Tirith, but not respectable enough for marriage.

Once Lothiriel had suggested a match with her brother Erchirion, who was around Miwien's age, to her friend.

"Oh Valar, no," Miwien had laughed, "after all these years of knowing your family I feel as if your brothers were my own siblings. Besides, I'm not desperate. I'm quite content to spend the rest of my days with just you, me and my seven cats."

And it was true. Her friend was comfortable with her life, being happy and frivolous and doing what she wanted, never seeing herself as an old spinster (even though she really did have seven cats).

Lothiriel was very fond of her happy-go-lucky friend, and admired her carefree take on life.

"I wish Gondorian soldiers practiced like this occasionally. It's a sight for sore eyes." Miwien said, her eyes glued on the dozen or so shirtless Rohirrim.

"If they did, your peeping would frighten them back into their tunics, I'm sure," Lothiriel pointed out.

Miwien turned to her with a mischievous grin, "Not if I stole them first."

They laughed at that, before Lothiriel realized they were somewhat being peeping-toms. She quieted down, hoping they weren't noticed.

"By the way, what are you doing here?" Lothiriel asked.

"Um, learning anatomy?" Miwien shrugged.

"Not that, you idiot," Lothiriel rolled her eyes, "I meant what are you doing at the citadel?"

"Oh right, I actually came looking for you, thought we could go to the market." Miwien said. "I was bored, but don't worry. I'm no longer bored."

"Spying on shirtless men is not an acceptable activity to combat boredom." Lothiriel said, but she too turned back towards the courtyard, her eyes automatically landing on Eomer's powerful form.

He was sparring with a sword now, his movements measured and graceful. Occasionally, he would stop to correct his opponent, a younger man who Eomer seemed to be training.

Eomer and his opponent took a fighting stance. Lothiriel watched as Eomer said something and the young man attacked, his sword out. Eomer parried the attack, turning the boy's own momentum against him. He was so fast, his muscles flexing, as he made his opponent's sword fly out of his hands in just a few moves. The boy landed on the ground with Eomer's blade at his chest.

Eomer grinned then and Lothiriel was entranced. It was the first time she saw him without a frown on his face and it seemed to transform him. He looked warm and happy, and Lothiriel wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of his smile.

Eomer drew away his sword and extended his hand to help the young man from the ground, he patted his shoulder and said a few words. The boy nodded before picking up his sword and walking away.

"Valar, is that King Eomer?" Miwien exclaimed, her eyes trained on the sparring men like a hawk.

Lothiriel's pulse raced, startled by her friend.

"Is it? Where?" She asked, pretending nonchalance.

"There, the one with the green trousers and the muscles of a beast." Miwien said appreciatively, pointing towards a man sparring several yards away.

"No, Eomer's the one in the black trousers..." Lothiriel suddenly trailed off as she caught Miwien smirking at her.

"Ohoho, I knew it," Miwien stepped towards her, eyes mischievous, "Just now I saw you looking at the king, nay you were entranced by him. I've never seen you making eyes at a man like that. Do you like him? Do you fancy his big, hard... muscles?"

Lothiriel scoffed, turning away from the courtyard. "No." She said emphatically, glaring at her friend in warning.

"Right, and I don't fancy apple pie. Come on, Lothiriel, King Eomer is a fine specimen to look at and I've seen how you get flustered whenever he is around. I'm not blind."

"Neither am I. I admit to his being 'a fine specimen' as you put it, but beyond that I could not be bothered by the man."

"Yet you seem hot and bothered by him now." Miwien laughed, raising a brow as Lothiriel blushed.

"It's the heat." Lothiriel retorted.

Miwien eyed the cloudy sky skeptically.

"It's expected to rain today."

Lothiriel sighed in defeat. There could be no hiding the truth from Miwien, who could read Lothiriel like a book. She was also a notorious meddler, and would wheedle out the truth one way or another. Excessive denial on Lothiriel's part would certainly not deter her, so Lothiriel may as well be truthful to her friend.

"Oh Valar, fine. I have to tell you sooner or later anyway. So I may as well just confess now. I thought I didn't like him, Miwien, but then I saw him today and now I admit I may fancy the man just a tiny bit. In a purely I-want-to-rub-my-hands-on-his-muscles sort of way."

Miwien's eyes widened a bit at that. She was about to say something, but Lothiriel interrupted her.

"I mean have you seen him? It's ridiculous, how handsome he is. And like we established, Eomer is a fine specimen. You can't blame me for fancying his big, hard... muscles." Lothiriel mimicked fanning herself, then grinned at Miwien.

Miwien cleared her throat then coughed, her eyes huge as they looked past Lothiriel's shoulder. A terrible thought suddenly occurred to her.

"He's not behind me." She said, shaking her head.

"He is."

Lothiriel stilled as the deep, curt voice carried over her. She paled as she caught Miwien's twinkling eyes. Of course, her friend would find the humor in this situation.

She wondered when Eomer had approached and how much he had heard. She also wondered if the floor beneath her could just open up and swallow her into its depths.

Very slowly she turned around. There he was, standing just a few paces from her. He had donned on a tunic, but it clung to his sweat-soaked body like a glove. Lothiriel gulped as she averted her eyes to his face.

Bad idea.

He was staring at her intently. His face unsmiling and his expression mildly disapproving, as usual. Yet his eyes bored into hers with an intensity that unnerved her. Lothiriel realized that this was the first time Eomer actually looked at her, instead of staring in her general vicinity.

She also realized that his eyes were a strange mix of greens and browns, calm earthly colors. Yet there was nothing calm, but everything earthly, about the way they swept over her in a slow perusal before returning back to her face.

She felt blood rushing to her cheeks as she met his gaze.

"My lord, we did not realize you were done with your sparring." Miwien finally interjected, saving Lothiriel from having to speak.

Not that she could form any words together at the moment, even if she wanted to. Her wits had quite left her.

"I saw you and the princess and thought I'd greet you." He said, crossing his arms. Lothiriel could not help but notice how his muscles bulged at the action.

"How courteous of you," Miwien smiled charmingly, "But I'm afraid you caught us at a bad time. I just came here to fetch Lothiriel, who is not supposed to be out of bed. As you can see she is a little flushed. She is not well, you see, she has the... the peasles. It's a short spell of sickness that momentarily addles the brain and makes the sick person spout nonsense, you see, my lord."

Lothiriel looked at her friend in disbelief, her eyes promising retribution. Peasles rhymed suspiciously with _measles_, and the king of Rohan was not stupid. Miwien just smiled unabashedly.

"I... see." Eomer said, looking from Miwien to Lothiriel, doubt coloring his features. "In that case, I hope for a hasty recovery for the princess."

"Thank you for your concern, my lord. Apart from making one speak rubbish, peasles is not a very serious condition. So Lothiriel shall recover in no time." Miwien said. "Now, if you'll excuse us, I really must be getting her back to bed before she says more nonsense. Good day, my lord!"

With a cheerful curtsey at Eomer, Miwien grabbed Lothiriel's arm and steered her away from the king.

Embarrassed beyond belief, Lothiriel did not dare look back at him, but she felt his intense scrutiny all the way till they stepped out of his sight.

"That went well." Miwien said, bemused.

Lothiriel buried her face in her hands groaning. If she were to dance in the city hall in her underwear, she wouldn't be half as embarrassed as she was now.

"I can't believe I told the king of Rohan I fancied his big, hard muscles. With the implied innuendo and all."

"So what, he's not going to execute you for that." Miwien said, prying Lothiriel's hands away from her face.

"I would really prefer it if he would." Lothiriel moaned, "What must he be thinking? Oh god, what if he tells father?"

"He won't." Miwien said.

"You don't know that."

"Yes I do. Because for a second there, King Eomer looked like he wouldn't mind you rubbing his big, hard muscles."

"Don't be ridiculous," Lothiriel said, blushing. "That man doesn't like me. After today, I'll be surprised if he can abide me at all."

"I have an idea!" Miwien said.

"Please, I won't pretend to be sick with peasles or whatever. King Eomer is not that gullible."

"No, no, hear me out." Miwien said, taking Lothiriel's hands. "King Eomer is going back to Rohan soon, maybe right after King Elessar's coronation which is just a few weeks away. So if you avoid him until then, you won't have to see each other and maybe he'll forget what you said today. After all, he's a supremely important and busy man. He probably meets and hears dozens of people in a day. Today's events are probably quite insignificant for him."

Lothiriel considered what her friend was suggesting. The logic made sense in a way that only Miwien could have come up with, and avoiding Eomer did seem like her best option at the moment.

"You are right, Miwien." Lothiriel said, warming to the idea. "I am going to keep away from him as if he has the plague _and_ the pox. If I see him, I'll run in the opposite direction. At feasts, I'll keep at least a hundred yards between us. It's only a matter of weeks before the coronation and then he'll be gone."

Somewhat reassured, Lothiriel linked her arm with Miwien's and together they went on, laughing at a joke or other.

It was a sound plan.

But fate had a twisted sense of humor, and so it happened that a few days later Eomer came to live with Lothiriel and her family.

* * *

**A/N: **I like reading fluffy romances so I thought I'd write one with my favorite pairing. If you liked this first chapter please review or fav! Also, if you notice any mistakes feel free to let me know.

I have modeled my Lothiriel after Princess Catarina from the show 'Deus Salve O Rei', and Miwien after Amalia from the same show.

I took my information about the Dieffenbachia/dumb cane plant from google. It is a house plant, and it's leaves can cause swelling and other allergic reactions sometimes, and make you temporarily speechless.

Edit: as the reviewer Qoheleth pointed out, taxonomy shouldn't exist in Middle Earth so I changed the name of 'Dieffenbachia' to its generic name of 'Dumb Cane'.

Disclaimer: I only own Miwien. Everything else belongs to Tolkien.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Over the next few days, Lothiriel avoided Eomer like the plague.

Not that it was difficult to do so. The man was always busy doing kingly things with busy people, which included her father, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth.

However, on the third day of successfully avoiding the king of Rohan, Lothiriel's world came crashing down on her.

"What?"

It was a mild day, the sun shining after two days of light rain, and it found her sitting in her father's well-appointed study, writing a letter to her sister-in-law, Adanel. Her eldest brother, Elphir, had gone back to Dol Amroth with his family a week or so ago to oversee its affairs. Adanel, expecting their second child, had asked Lothiriel for a remedy to cure morning sickness, and so she sat writing it in a letter to be dispatched with her father's own correspondence.

At least, she had been happily writing, until her father broke the most terrible news she had ever heard.

"I think I misheard you, father." Lothiriel said, eyes wide and disbelieving. The ink seeping from her quill onto her page went unnoticed as she looked across the desk.

Her father looked quite serious as he paused in his own writing and looked back at her. He was a man well in his middle age, but he did not look it thanks to the strain of elvish and Numenorean blood in their family. Even though his dark hair had started lightening at the temples, his gray eyes were sharp and alert and his face appeared ageless with only a few wrinkles around his mouth owing to his stern nature.

"Eomer and Eowyn will be staying on with us now for as long as they remain in Minas Tirith." Her father repeated what he had said earlier, his tone very serious.

"But why?" Lothiriel blurted.

"I invited them. Arwen Undomiel's escort is expected to arrive any day now, and King Elessar needs all the room he can get to accommodate them comfortably." Her father explained. "Also, Eomer has noticed Faramir and Lady Eowyn's... attachment and he feels it improper for them to stay under the same roof, so he requested to stay here with us."

He _requested_ it? Lothiriel felt a pressure building behind her brow, signalling the arrival of a monstrous headache.

"Are you against such an arrangement, daughter?" Her father asked, his shrewd gaze looking at her.

Yes, Lothiriel wanted to say. How am I supposed to avoid the man if we're living under the same roof?

"Of course not, why would I be?" She said instead.

"Good," her father said, picking up his quill to continue his writing, "I expect you to welcome them when they arrive. Make sure you see to their every need. I hope you'll do me proud as my daughter and the head of my household."

Lothiriel could hardly do anything but agree in the face of her father's expectations. She could tell he valued his friendship with Eomer greatly and wanted his stay to be comfortable.

"Yes, father." Lothiriel said, looking at her ink-stained letter as the impending headache finally made itself known.

* * *

Lothiriel had no time to prepare for their arrival.

Oh she did manage to arrange rooms for them (far away from her own, in Eomer's case) and figured out a satisfactory seating arrangement for meals (again, Eomer's seat was far far away), so that aspect of preparation was seen and done with.

But time to prepare herself, mentally, to the fact that Eomer would now be living under the same roof as her did not present itself to Lothiriel before the day of his arrival dawned at large.

Their things had already been moved to their new rooms. Lothiriel had chosen a room with a wide window for Eowyn, who she thought might appreciate the view and sunshine after spending some time in the Houses of Healing.

For Eomer, she had chosen the room furthest away from her own, which incidentally happened to be Elphir and Adanel's room and also the second nicest room in the whole house after her father's. Him being royalty and all, Lothiriel was sure she could explain her choice as one befitting his station, and since Elphir was back in Dol Amroth the nice room was free for the use of the King of Rohan.

Eomer and Eowyn finally arrived, accompanied by Faramir, Lothiriel's cousin. She stood in the hall waiting to greet and welcome them, standing still and keeping her face carefully blank.

"I am a princess of Dol Amroth," she muttered to herself, "I am serene, graceful and regal..."

She trailed off as her guests were finally shown in by one of her father's men. Her throat went dry as the deserts of Harad when she saw Eomer.

Valar, the man looked gorgeous.

He strode towards her with sure steps, his legs encased in black breeches and leather boots. His sword swung from a belt around his dark green tunic and surcoat, the fit of which teased at the muscled physique she knew was underneath. His long golden hair was tied back in a simple fashion, his wide mouth framed by that beard that made Lothiriel's fingertips tingle; and his eyes... they were trained on her with a familiar intensity, as if he could tell what she was thinking.

She flushed bright red as their eyes clashed. Serenity, grace and regality all but fled from her mind. The last time she saw him, she had dug herself into quite a hole. She wished she had a shovel, so she could now dig an actual hole and just lie in it, instead of having to face him and his handsome face and his piercing eyes and his muscles-.

"Lothiriel," she jumped, startled out of her thoughts by Faramir, who was looking at her in concern. "Are you well?"

She turned to him and managed a weak smile in assurance. "Yes-"

"No, I believe she might still be suffering from her illness." She was interrupted by Eomer.

She glanced towards him and caught him looking at her with a dead serious expression, except she could recognize a trace of wry amusement in his eyes. Directed at her.

"I did not know you were ill, cousin," Faramir said, taking a step towards her.

Eomer answered him, "A strange illness, but I was told it would pass soon. I believe it was called pe-"

"I'm quite recovered now, thank you for your concern." Lothiriel said quickly, a pained smile on her face. She was going to wring Miwien's neck the next time she saw her and she was going to do it very slowly.

Taking a deep breath, Lothiriel silently counted to five, before turning to her guests. Eomer was standing directly before her, with Faramir and the lady Eowyn beside him.

"Please, allow me to welcome you to our home, my lord Eomer," she said, "And Lady Eowyn. I've heard a great deal about you, my lady, and I have to say it's a pleasure to finally get to meet you." Her voice rose a bit in excitement as she turned to the white lady of Rohan.

Lothiriel had heard numerous accounts of the deeds and valour of Eowyn in the Battle of Pelennor Fields, and she had observed the closeness that had developed between the white lady and Faramir. She was happy for her cousin, and couldn't wait to know more about the lady who had captured his heart.

Lady Eowyn inclined her head at Lothiriel's welcome, her cool gaze taking in the surroundings. She was taller than Lothiriel, and looked very beautiful dressed in a cream gown with her long blonde hair hanging loose in the Rohirric fashion.

"I hope your stay is comfortable here, but if you ever need anything do not hesitate to come to me." Lothiriel continued, "I promise to accommodate and please you in any way I can."

"I'll keep that in mind, Princess." Eomer said. His face was innocently devoid of any expression, but his eyes danced at her.

Lothiriel reddened at the implication. Was he mocking her? Or testing her somehow, seeing how she would react to his deliberate goading? Thankfully, lady Eowyn spoke then, saving Lothiriel from having to answer.

"Yes, you have our thanks for your kindness and hospitality, princess Lothiriel." Eowyn said, looking between her and Eomer. Like her brother, she had the habit of keeping her face guarded and unsmiling, and Lothiriel could only guess at what she was thinking.

"Please, you must call me Lothiriel," she said.

"Then you may call me Eowyn."

Lothiriel smiled brightly at that. Already on a first name basis with the white lady, they would be friends in no time at this rate!

After the necessary introductions were made, she showed her guests to the private parlour for some light refreshments. Lothiriel tried her best to strike a conversation with Eowyn and ignore the lady's brother who, thankfully, engaged in conversation with Faramir.

Both tasks proved to be quite difficult, however, as Lothiriel found Eowyn to be surprisingly hard to talk to. The lady remained mostly quiet and seemed lost far away, her expression only softening whenever she looked at Faramir.

And ignoring Eomer proved, unsurprisingly, quite hard to do as well because the man was just so large and Lothiriel just so... aware of him. Her attraction to the man seemed larger than life itself, making her stumble through her words every time he looked at her.

He had an easy-going manner as he conversed with Faramir, and Lothiriel could not help but feel a bit envious. Never had he been like that around her. For him she was just a dear friend's daughter, someone to be polite towards for the sake of courtesy, but not worthy of interest. This was also why his comment earlier in the hall had been so perplexing. If Lothiriel didn't know any better, it almost sounded as if he had been… _flirting_ with her.

But she did know better. So far she had not done anything to make a favorable impression on the man, far from it in fact.

Soon enough Faramir took his leave and it fell on Lothiriel to show the two Rohirric siblings to their rooms so they may rest a bit before dinner.

She lead them out of the parlour, across the entry hall and up the double staircase leading to the second floor. At the landing, they took a right leading to the east wing where the bedrooms were located.

Her father's house, located in the sixth circle of Minas Tirith, was a large and imposing building made of white stone. But the furnishings were tastefully done, chosen by Lothiriel herself, with tapestries lining the walls, plush carpets on the floor and fresh flowers and herbs artfully arranged in several vases along the hallways.

As Lothiriel lead Eowyn and Eomer to their rooms, she offered to give them a tour of the house, but both declined. Eowyn elected to stay in her room for a nap.

Eomer asked after Lothiriel's brothers, Erchirion and Amrothos, who had gone down to the lower city to help their father oversee repairs to the wall. After she had shown him to his room he left to find them.

Lothiriel did not know if she was disappointed or relieved.

* * *

The late afternoon found Lothiriel in the kitchen garden, taking out some weeds. Normally, she would have found the task relaxing, but she could hardly focus that day.

She was in a state, feeling frustrated with herself. Her mind kept going back to that day at the courtyard, and she should be feeling mortified at what Eomer had heard her say about him, considering the fact that it probably cast a poor light on her father's upbringing, a man whom Eomer counted as a dear friend.

Instead of that though, the image of a shirtless King of Rohan kept circling through her thoughts, and she was unable to shake it off. It was inconvenient and exasperating.

Nothing would ever come of it. The pull she felt towards Eomer was purely physical, and completely irrational. She hardly even knew what sort of man he was, all she knew about him she had heard from other people. And given his propensity to remain aloof in her presence, she didn't think they would develop a friendship or even an acquaintance any time soon.

For the sake of her sanity, she had to stay far away from him. It was what she and Miwien had planned anyway, and hopefully it would help lessen the attraction she felt towards him.

Yes, that's exactly what she would do. So what if he was now living in her house? She wouldn't see him much anyways. His room was far from her own so there was little chance of running into him in the hallway. And at meal times he would be sitting far from her so she wouldn't have to engage him in any conversation. And if today was any indication, Eomer would probably be spending a lot of time away from the house.

Avoiding him could yet still be done.

Satisfied, Lothiriel went back to pulling out the weeds. She had planted a lot of herbs in the garden, becoming rather enthusiastic about them after starting her apprenticeship as a healer. Most of the herbs were medicinal but quite a few could be used for cooking too. Tending the little garden had become one of Lothiriel's favorite past times, and she often came here to seek some solitude and peace.

Spotting a bit of crabgrass growing near her rosemary, Lothiriel reached for her gardening claw and brutally started digging out the pesky weed.

"Not today, fellow," she said to the weed, freely taking out all her frustrations on it. A bit of dirt went flying, splattering over her neck and she wiped at it distractedly.

"Who are you talking to?"

Lothiriel jumped at the sudden voice, pausing in her aggressive weed-pulling. She turned around to see Eowyn standing beyond the boundary of the small garden, looking just as surprised to see her.

"No one, I was just pulling out some weeds." Lothiriel wiped her hands on a cloth and stood, turning towards Eowyn.

"You were talking to a… weed?" Eowyn asked, her brow raised.

"No," Lothiriel said, looking sheepish, "I wasn't talking, I was scolding. Weeds are troublesome, you need a firm hand when dealing with them or you won't see the last of them."

Eowyn cracked a little smile at that. "Then I shouldn't keep you from your task."

With another small smile, Eowyn turned back towards the house. After a little deliberation Lothiriel called out after her.

"Wait," Eowyn stopped and looked back with a questioning look, "Would you- would you like me to show you how to weed the garden?"

Eowyn's eyes widened slightly. Lothiriel immediately regretted her impulsive offer as she realised that Eowyn was wearing a white gown, which would be covered with dirt afterwards. She was sure Eowyn would decline the offer.

Surprisingly, Eowyn came back towards Lothiriel.

"Yes, I would like that." she said.

Smiling, Lothiriel fetched a clean apron for Eowyn and beckoned her towards her. She showed her how to recognize weeds and how to dig up the roots of one with the gardening claw. Eowyn listened and observed attentively, and soon with her own claw she helped Lothiriel get rid of some weeds. Both of them got absorbed in the task in no time, working together in companionable silence.

A while later, commotion from the front of the house reached them, grabbing their attention. A few short shouts could be heard followed by the sound of people rushing here and there.

Frowning, Lothiriel discarded her tools and she and Eowyn both stood up exchanging a look, before making their way towards the house.

The entrance hall was in chaos with servants and soldiers running everywhere. Imrahil, Lothiriel's father was standing by the front door, issuing orders, as some soldiers helped injured men out of the door, to be taken to the Houses of Healing. She could also spot the dark heads of her brothers, Erchirion and Amrothos, across the room. Eomer was standing beside them.

Lothiriel rushed towards her brothers, anxiety hastening her steps. She was acutely aware of the fact that she was in her old threadbare gown, covered in dirt with wisps of dark hair escaping from its simple coil. _This is hardly the time for vanity_, she admonished herself as she reached her brothers and Eomer, Eowyn hot on her heels.

The three men were covered in dust and scratches from head to toe. Amrothos was also sporting a nasty gash on his head.

"What happened?" she demanded, automatically grabbing Amrothos' head so she could look at his wound.

"A little accident down by the outer wall," Erchirion answered, turning towards her. "A section of the wall caved in. Rubble fell right on top of the men working beneath the wall. Quite a few men got hurt, but thankfully nothing serious."

"It looks quite serious to me." Lothiriel said, watching as the injured men were taken to the Houses, "And why are you three not going to the Houses?"

"We're alright," Amrothos said, grinning as if a trail of blood was not falling into his eyes. "Other men need help more urgently."

Lothiriel assessed her brothers with a calculating gaze. Apart from Amrothos' gash they didn't seem that badly hurt. She turned towards Eomer then, finding him a bit scratched but otherwise uninjured.

"Fine, but let me see to that cut, Amrothos, before you bleed out on the floor." Lothiriel said, dragging her protesting brother away.

As she walked away she caught sight of Eomer talking with Eowyn. He seemed to flinch when Eowyn put an arm around him. But it was barely there, before Eomer pulled his sister into a hug. Shaking her head, Lothiriel turned back to see to Amrothos' wound.

After assessing the cut, Lothiriel decided it wasn't deep enough to require stitches.

"You'll live." she said, as she cleaned the cut on her brother's forehead. Already, the bleeding had stopped.

"Really?" Amrothos said, his gray eyes appearing light and full of mischief against his dirt covered face, "Are you sure? I feel a bit faint and I'm fairly sure there's two of you in front of me right now. Perhaps I should lie down for, say, a day or two. You can tell father I'll be unable to attend the council meeting the day after tomorrow."

"Aww, poor Amroth." Lothiriel cooed, "You're hurt are you? Then I'll let the cook know you'll require gruel served to you for the next two days, and I should also tell the stable boy to exercise your horse since you won't be able to go for rides-"

Amrothos groaned, "You know what, I suddenly feel right as rain. No need to go to all that trouble for me, dear."

Lothiriel grinned at that. After growing up with three older brothers, she'd learned how to manage them and hold her own against them. Making sure Amrothos didn't have any other injuries Lothiriel ordered him to go take a bath, before moving back to the entrance hall.

The commotion from earlier had quieted down now. After seeing her father and Erchirion, who were unharmed if a bit dirty, Lothiriel decided to check on Eomer as well but he had already gone up to his room.

She thought she had seen him flinch earlier, as if in pain, but surely if he was injured he would have said something.

Soon it was time for dinner. Unable to help it, Lothiriel found herself observing Eomer throughout dinner. Her suspicion that he was injured was reinforced when Eomer winced imperceptibly every time he had to move his upper body. Growing up with three brothers had taught her that men tended to downplay their injuries and not seek any help until they were either bleeding to death or in unimaginable pain.

She should probably leave it. If he wanted to hide his injury then let him suffer for it, Lothiriel thought.

Eomer was seated on the other end of the table, on her father's right. She was all the way on the opposite end, trying to focus on her dinner. For the rest of the meal, she barely looked up, but for the life of her she couldn't tell what Amrothos and Erchirion were talking to her about.

If only the stubborn man would go seek medical help. But Eomer didn't.

Dinner ended without incident and Lothiriel, her brothers and Eowyn relocated to the parlour. Eomer excused himself, preferring to retire early to bed.

Time passed quickly as the Dol Amroth siblings taught a famous Gondorian card game to Eowyn. Well, Amrothos and Erchirion did most of the teaching while Lothiriel observed quietly.

In no time Eowyn had mastered the tricks of the game and started enjoying herself as she managed to win quite a few times. After a few seemingly effortless victories, Amrothos became convinced that the white lady was somehow cheating. Taking advantage of the situation, Erchirion managed to goad Amrothos into proposing a challenge. It was decided that the loser would have to do a forfeit. Lothiriel absent-mindedly accepted her cards after Erchirion had dealt.

It turned out that Eowyn wasn't cheating after all, but she did seem to have a way with the game. She was the first one to win. Next was Amrothos, who got a bit too serious about winning. Erchirion, not particularly interested in winning, but not wanting to lose either managed to win next against Lothiriel, who was admittedly rather lost in her thoughts and not paying much attention to the game in the first place.

After enduring some good-natured taunting and gloating from her brothers, Lothiriel sighed and told them to do their worst. The forfeit, it was decided, would be that Lothiriel would have to look after Amrothos' horse and polish Erchirion's armour for the next week. Eowyn, amused by the siblings' antics, said she preferred to do her own chores, and instead asked Lothiriel to teach her more about gardening.

Soon after, Lothiriel excused herself and retired for the night. In her room, her maid helped her dress for bed in a linen nightgown trimmed in white lace. Making sure Lothiriel was comfortable, the maid blew out the candles and left.

Lothiriel gathered her blanket around her and closed her eyes. She could hear the sound of crickets outside her window, the noise unbearably loud. She huffed, pulling a pillow over her ears.

Eomer would probably be asleep by now, he had retired early. Or he might be having trouble falling asleep too. But he should have known better than to go to bed without having his injury checked. That is, if he even made it to the bed.

Lothiriel bit her lip as she thought about the possibility that he might be in need of help.

Tossing away the covers, she sat up, weighing her options. Her father had asked her to look after their guests. And as a hostess, surely it would only be hospitable to check to see that Eomer wasn't badly hurt. Surely, nothing could be wrong with asking the man if he was alright.

Her mind made up, Lothiriel grabbed a robe and pulled it on over her nightdress, lit a candle and made her way to the door.

* * *

**A/N: **thank you so much to everyone who took the time out to review, favorite, and follow this story! Seriously, getting the email alerts made me smile so bad.

I was going to post this chapter tomorrow, but I just couldn't wait so here it is a day early. Hope you guys like it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The household was quiet at this time of night, the hallway empty.

Lothiriel was thankful for that as she made her way to Eomer's room, brandishing a lit candle to light her way. It would be very awkward to explain if she was caught going to the King of Rohan's room at night in just her bedclothes.

In hindsight, maybe this wasn't such a good idea. She could have waited till the morning before going to see after the foolish man. But she was already halfway there now. Besides, she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep until she could check that Eomer was unhurt.

Soon, Lothiriel was standing outside his door. Gathering her courage, she brought up her hand and knocked lightly. There was no answer from inside. Maybe he was already asleep?

Lothiriel knocked again, before trying the door handle. It was unlocked and opened easily. She hesitated, debating whether to go in or not. It was highly improper to go into his room uninvited.

_I'm sure he is fine_, Lothiriel thought, willing herself to walk away. But her mind was filled with images of Eomer sleeping fitfully through a high fever, or Eomer falling due to pain and injuring himself further, or bleeding heavily through a hidden wound. Even small wounds, if placed strategically, could make a person bleed to death. And sometimes the bleeding could be internal, making a deadly injury seem trivial.

Convinced that Eomer could need her help, Lothiriel pushed open the door and stepped inside his bedroom, letting the door close behind her. It was dark inside, with her candle casting only a little circle of illumination. But Lothiriel knew where to find the bed, so she made her way there.

Reaching the enormous four-poster bed, she extended her hand to pull away the hanging. If Eomer was sleeping peacefully, she'd let him be, but first she had to check that he was alright.

She grasped the velvet hanging, but before she could push it out of the way her hand was grabbed suddenly and pulled. Her candle fell out of her grasp, the flame dying, as Lothiriel was pulled roughly onto the bed and a hard body pinned her down. She gasped as a hand came around her neck, not quite throttling but threatening and menacing.

Unable to help her rising panic, Lothiriel struggled against her captive. There was a pained curse from above her, and the hand around her throat loosened. Lothiriel stilled as she recognized the voice.

"Eomer," she gasped, her heart beating painfully in her chest.

A moment passed before the hard body rolled away from her with a pained groan. She could hear Eomer fumbling for something on the side table, before his face came into view as he lit up a lamp. He looked furious as he gazed down at her, splayed across his bed.

"Princess Lothiriel," he said, sitting up and moving away from her, "I should have known."

Lothiriel swallowed, before propping herself on her elbows. She flushed as she saw his hard gaze take her in. Her dark hair lay unbound and in wild disarray, the front of her robe gaping open to reveal the white lace of her nightgown underneath.

"I-I'm sorry if I startled you. I wanted to see if you were alright." Lothiriel explained, still struggling to find her breath. "You were injured. Earlier."

"That's as poor an excuse as a made-up illness."

"I-what?"

"Don't pretend to be innocent, princess." Eomer growled, his eyes dark as he carefully leaned back on his arms. "There's only one reason why you would come into my room at night, barely dressed. What's next in your scheme? Is your father or one of your brothers going to conveniently find us here together?"

Lothiriel felt herself go rigid at his words.

"What are you implying?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Only that you should try your guile on someone more gullible. I'm not interested, princess, and not likely to fall for your trap." Eomer said, his voice low but his words ringing harshly. "Go back to your room now and we'll forget this happened."

Lothiriel stared at him in shock. He could not be thinking that she was- that she was trying to _compromise_ him. A disbelieving laugh escaped her as she shook her head.

"Sweet Elbereth," she muttered, "I cannot believe you."

She huffed and sat up in bed, glaring at Eomer as she closed the edges of her robe closer together and tried to tame her hair into some semblance of order. "What even makes you think that? Goodness."

Eomer looked down at her pointedly, "If I find a woman in my bed, what else am I supposed to think? That you came here for tea?"

"It's not like I want to be in your bed!" Lothiriel exclaimed. "You were the one who grabbed me. That means it's _you_ who want to take advantage of _me_."

"Save your accusations," Eomer said, his eyes flashing as he leaned towards her. "I thought being Imrahil's daughter would be to your credit, but you're no better than the other noble ladies I've met, with your cunning schemes and false tongues. You think me a 'barbarian king' and yet you all want my crown."

Lothiriel gaped at him. He stared back at her resolutely, his face hard and merciless, his breathing ragged.

Goodness, he really did believe she had designs on him, that she had plans to trap him in marriage. It was ridiculous. She had no plans to trap anyone in marriage! And for some reason, it hurt that he would think that of her.

She took a deep breath, and looked at him resolutely.

"My lord, first allow me to clarify that I don't want your crown in the least. I have no designs on you-" she gestured between them helplessly, before sighing. "You looked like you might be injured, earlier. I only came here tonight because I was concerned you might be in pain or feverish."

"Why you?" Eomer bit out.

"What?"

"If you were so concerned you could have sent someone to ask after me. Why did you come here?"

Lothiriel swallowed thickly. That was a good question, and unfortunately she did not have a good answer. The problem was, she hadn't stopped to think. And maybe a tiny part of her, deep inside, had assumed she would look after him and he would be grateful for her help and- and like her a little.

Or maybe she'd just been foolish and once again had humiliated herself in front of him; no wonder he thought she was acting up a scheme to catch his crown.

However, she still had enough pride to not admit that. Instead, she thought of an excuse.

"Everyone is probably asleep at this time, so I thought I'd look after you myself."

"And you could not wait till morning because…?"

"Because I thought you might be dying!" Lothiriel exclaimed, glaring as he regarded her skeptically. Goodness, he was stubborn. "I do not know why I bothered."

"You should go back." Eomer said, rubbing at the space between his eyes. "I don't need your help."

She was annoyed now. She could not believe she had spent all night concerned about him. By Eru, worrying over him had even made her lose at cards, costing her a forfeit. And she was usually _very _good at cards.

Glaring at his bent head, Lothiriel huffed angrily, gathered her robe and got up. Maybe a bit too quickly in her anger. Her knee caught a part of her nightgown making her tilt forward. She threw out her arms reflexively, and one of her elbows hit Eomer. There was a sharp intake of breath, and then he seemed to stop breathing.

Lothiriel straightened, looking at Eomer. His eyes were pinched shut, his form rigid and completely still.

"You do need help, you are in pain." She said, her annoyance replaced again with concern.

"It's nothing I can't handle." He hissed, opening his eyes.

"You need to see a healer." Lothiriel stated, unconvinced. "If I leave now, will you go get your injury seen to, in the morning?"

"I'm fine." He said, his breathing was still unsteady, but his eyes seemed clearer. His anger had left, he just looked tired now.

"No, you are not fine." Lothiriel said, exasperated. "During dinner I saw you flinching in pain every time you moved your upper body. And just now, you looked like you were in a lot of pain and having trouble catching your breath. It's possible you may have bruised ribs."

"I had trouble catching my breath because you elbowed me in the chest. Besides, it's no concern of yours whether I have bruised ribs or not."

"On the contrary, it is my concern." she said, then rushed to clarify as she saw his jaw twitch in aggravation, "I'm your hostess, and naturally concerned for your well-being. Please, my lord, if you don't want to see a healer then at least allow me to see to your injury. I'm a healer's apprentice myself, I can help you."

Eomer looked at her for a while, regarding her carefully, and she tried to look serious under his scrutiny.

She must have looked convincing, because he sighed and ran a hand over his face, "You really did come here to check on my injury."

"Yes, I swear. I couldn't stop worrying." Lothiriel bit her lip.

"You worry for nothing. It's just a trifle." Eomer grumbled, but his expression seemed to give, his rigid posture relaxing marginally. "If it'll get you out of my room fast enough, have a look if you like."

With a resigned sigh, he straightened and moved to pull off his shirt. Lothiriel tried to control her blush as she just now noticed his state of dress. Or rather undress. He was only wearing a linen undershirt and a pair of braies. And the shirt was slowly coming off him.

He winced as he raised his arms to pull his shirt up and Lothiriel rushed to give him a hand.

"Here, let me help," she said, pulling the shirt over his head.

Inch by excruciating inch, his shirtless torso came into view. She felt warm as she surreptitiously took in his bare chest and abdomen. Valar, he was well-made and the sight of it did funny things to her stomach. And a bit lower.

Soon enough, his discarded shirt was in her hands, and Lothiriel's heart lurched at the intimacy of the moment. She averted her gaze and took a moment to remind herself that she was here to look after his injury, not ogle him.

Clearing her throat, she quickly moved off the bed, grabbed her discarded candle and walked towards his side of the bed. Lighting her candle from the burning lamp, she beckoned Eomer forward so she could assess the damage.

As she had suspected, his ribs were bruised, the right side of his chest discoloured. The bruise extended over his abdomen. After asking Eomer to lie down, who did so rather grudgingly, she lightly palpated his chest and abdomen to assess the extent of his injury.

As her fingers traveled over his skin she tried not to fixate too much on the feel of him, smooth and very warm beneath her clammy fingers. The wall of his abdomen was as hard as she had expected, the ridges of his muscles prominent beneath her hand. Instead, she kept her eyes on his face, to look for any signs of discomfort or pain. His expression was unreadable, and he was not flinching as she pressed on the different areas of his abdomen. His gaze was shuttered as he assessed her, seeming to catalogue her every feature.

Trying to remain efficient, and hoping the darkness of the room concealed her blush, Lothiriel quickly finished her examination. Thankfully, apart from the ribs, there didn't seem to be any extensive injury.

"The lower ribs on your right side are bruised badly. You're going to exert yourself easily, due to the pain, but I can make a salve that should help. If you apply it twice a day, the pain should be gone soon and your ribs will heal in no time." Lothiriel said, putting aside her candle.

"I see." Eomer said, as he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

The action brought him closer to her, his knees pressing into the folds of her robe and his face just a few inches away. She shivered, as she took a step back. That brought the rest of him in view and she couldn't help but glance down at his naked chest and Eomer noticed, his brow raising at her.

The piercing silence suddenly made her want to say something, anything to distract her from the urge to step closer to him, to put her hands on him again but for an entirely different reason.

"What you heard me say - a few days ago - about your, um, muscles." Lothiriel began, her hands fluttering as she indicated said muscles displayed before her, "You shouldn't pay it any heed. It was just a healer's appreciation for well formed muscles, especially the rectus abdominis muscle. There are many anatomical landmarks that can be located beneath the tendinous intersections of the muscle and I was just appreciating the fact that given the chance it wouldn't be hard to find those landmarks beneath your muscles, because they're so defined. I- I would have said the same for any other man."

Eomer's eyes seemed to grow darker, his brows raised, "Would you?"

No, Lothiriel thought. But now that the words were said, she took to her excuse like a drowning sailor to a plank of wood.

"Yes. The healer in me really liked the sight of your anatomy." She nodded furiously, then stopped as she considered the way that had sounded, "And also of the other soldiers practicing that day. Very well-defined rectus abdominis and pectoral muscles."

At that, Lothiriel couldn't help but again glance down at Eomer. Very well-defined, indeed.

"Princess," Eomer said as he caught her look again. His voice sounded thick with a note of warning in it as he looked up at her, "I think you had better go back now."

"Ah, but the salve-"

"Can wait till the morning." Eomer groaned, "Bema's sake, just go now."

He looked mildly annoyed as if he couldn't wait for her to leave, except a darker expression colored his face as well, an emotion that was unfamiliar to her but she recognized it anyway. It was awareness, and barely restrained… want.

He slowly looked her up and down, his eyes glittering with warning and something that brought a rush of heat to her face.

"And princess," he drawled, "Don't come to my bed again, unless you want the compromising to happen after all."

Eyes wide, Lothiriel managed to squeak out a good night before she turned and fled.

* * *

Eomer usually woke up at dawn everyday. Today, he was already awake by the time the sky outside his window began lightening.

To say he hadn't slept well would be an understatement. He'd had a few hours of fitful sleep at most, and a pounding headache. All thanks to a certain little princess who tended to make him go crazy every time she opened her pretty mouth.

A few days back, the only thing Eomer had known about her was that she was Imrahil's youngest. Beautiful, polite and impeccably dressed, like every other noble lady he had been introduced to. He hardly knew what noble ladies talked about so he kept his distance, preferring the company of her father and Aragorn so they could discuss important business.

Then he'd seen her that day, standing near the courtyard he and his men were training at. They had been introduced, and it would be discourteous of him to not go and greet her, so he'd thrown on a tunic and made his way towards the archway she and her friend had been standing under.

He'd heard her before he'd seen her and her words had certainly grabbed his interest, and even shocked him a little. He had assumed that proper young ladies of Minas Tirith considered mentioning any part of the human anatomy as sacrilegious, and yet there she was confessing her desire to rub her hands over some poor hapless man's muscles.

Then she'd said his name and that had brought him up short, but her friend had noticed him and alerted his presence to the princess.

The burning cheeks and guilty eyes had amused him. He had to admit, her earlier words, blatantly admiring his physique, had certainly made him aware that she was an attractive woman and maybe he wouldn't mind allowing her to do as she pleased.

After her unceremonious departure, Eomer had to remind himself that he had no time for women of any sort, princess or otherwise.

The war had just ended, and he had been left with loss and unimaginable burdens. As the new king of Rohan, he had responsibilities to his people that took priority over everything else. He was in Gondor to renew the old alliance, to meet the nobles and negotiate trade agreements, and try to come up with a plan to help his people through the upcoming winter.

Numerous meetings and councils in the next few days had all but removed any thought of the princess from his mind. But then he'd asked Imrahil for a place to stay, forgetting that she also lived there. It had already been too late when he'd next seen her, standing in Imrahil's home, welcoming them as the head of the household. He'd been unable to tease her a little, the sight of her blush immensely satisfying for some reason.

And then there'd been last night.

Eomer groaned and buried his face in his arms as he remembered. Years of honing his instincts had alerted him to the noise of footsteps, jolting him from pained slumber, and he had grabbed the intruder without thinking. Finding the princess in his bed, beneath him had been a surprise. And then a nagging suspicion had entered his mind.

She'd been in his room in the dead of night, wearing nothing but a thin robe and her nightgown, with the dark mass of her hair unbound. He'd gotten angry, irrationally so, thinking she was cooking up a convoluted scheme to end up as the new queen of Rohan. Maybe she had planned to catch his attention that day at the courtyard, all along. Maybe she thought being forward would appeal her to him.

But then he'd really looked at her. The way she held herself cautiously, her eyes determined but guileless, her words ringing with truth. She was no temptress, that was clear, and she had come to check up on him. Out of concern.

The problem was, Eomer had been a little bit tempted. A lot tempted, if he was being honest.

He was still a little stunned that all through dinner she had noticed the pain he'd tried his best to hide. He'd had bruised ribs before, it wasn't anything he couldn't handle, but Lothiriel had been so persistent and sweet in her undisguised worry for him that he had done something stupid.

Against his better judgment, he had let her take off his shirt, lie him down and then run her fingers all over him. It had taken all his self-control last night not to do anything foolish. Like pull her back into bed and kiss her speechless.

He'd been painfully aware of her secretive glances at his torso too, the ones she thought he wouldn't see. Her appreciation went straight to his head, more potent than the strongest ale.

And then she started spouting some nonsense about _muscles_ and _anatomy_ and all he could do was notice how full and tempting her lips looked. Thankfully, he'd had enough sense to get her to leave before he did something he'd regret.

He'd spent the rest of the night trying to forget how she looked splayed in his bed, her luscious black locks spread across his pillow, the front of her robe gaping to reveal a smooth neck and modest white lace.

It was dawn now, and that image was still imprinted on his mind.

He could not deny it, Princess Lothiriel was temptation itself. A lovely, adorable temptation that he could not afford. She was the kind of woman one courted, not the kind that one dallied with. And he was hardly at a point in his life where he had time for either.

No doubt, his advisors would start pushing him to marry soon, and a match with a highly-ranking princess of Gondor would scarcely be seen as unwise. But before his advisors could even broach the topic of marriage and securing heirs, there were the topics of rebuilding and feeding his people that needed to be addressed. The issue of safely transporting his injured riders needed to be addressed, the preparations for his uncle's funeral had to be made. And he had a sister to look after.

No, this was not the time to consider marriage.

And any other entanglement with Princess Lothiriel was impossible. She was the daughter of a man he was starting to count as one of his closest friends, a man Eomer respected and admired, and she deserved to be treated with the same respect and admiration.

The realization made him feel terrible at the way he had dealt with her last night, accusing her of making schemes one moment, and then making advances at her the next.

Groaning, Eomer closed his eyes and tried to recite the Oath of Eorl. He did it in Rohirric, the language it had been passed down in, and then in Westron for good measure. Feeling less unsettled, he got up from bed.

He breathed in deeply, assessing his ribs. The pain was much more manageable now. The sky outside had lightened, and he was itching to go for a ride, the only thing that would clear his head at the moment.

He washed and dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, grabbed his sword and made his way out of the house. Not knowing where the kitchens were, he grabbed two apples from a fruit basket sitting in the front hall.

One of the apples was gone by the time he made it to the stables, and spotting his horse, Firefoot, in a stall he quickly made his way over to him and offered him the other apple in greeting.

Firefoot practically swallowed it whole, nearly biting Eomer's fingers off in the process, and nudged his shoulder for more.

"Greedy bastard," Eomer shook his head fondly.

He looked around for Firefoot's saddle, ready to take his horse out, but found the stall devoid of the saddle and reins. Ah, maybe Imrahil's stables had a separate store room for the tack.

Looking around, Eomer noticed a stable boy cleaning out a stall that housed a beautiful black stallion, which Eomer recognized as Amrothos' horse. He made his way to the boy, intending to secure directions to the tack room.

As he approached him, the stable boy glanced at him from beneath the brim of his straw hat, before stiffening and turning away abruptly.

"You there, lad," Eomer called out as the boy hurried inside the stall he was cleaning, "I need to know where the tack's kept. Where are you going?"

The boy didn't answer. He was now attempting to close the stall door behind him. Annoyed, Eomer stepped forward and grabbed the door, preventing it from closing. The boy pushed harder, but he had as much strength as a stick insect. Stepping inside the stall, Eomer let the door go. The boy took a step back, his face hidden beneath his large hat.

"Just let me know where my horse's saddle is and I'll keep away from you." Eomer said, his arms folded, as the boy inched back.

One of his shuffling step caught on a piece of rope, causing him to flail about before he fell backwards, landing on a pile of hay. The straw hat went flying, making a dark braid of hair tumble down. Familiar dark brown eyes stared up at Eomer in alarm.

"Princess," Eomer was stunned.

Of course it would be p\Princess Lothiriel. She was dressed in a loose belted tunic, with form fitting trousers and worn boots. From this angle, it was hard to mistake her for a stable _boy_, because her figure was unmistakably feminine; her tunic had ridden up to reveal lightly curved hips and thighs.

Her honey coloured skin was slightly flushed with exertion, a faint smudge (that suspiciously looked like horse manure) on one cheek, and her long hair lay in a messy braid and yet she still looked achingly lovely.

Slowly, Eomer unfolded his arms and extended a hand to help her up. She accepted it hesitantly, and hauled herself up at the same moment that he pulled. The momentum caused her to stumble, and he caught her against him, his arm going around her.

She was small, her head only coming up to his shoulders, but she fit against him in a way that just felt right. Her hair smelled like sweet herbs and hay, and Eomer had a sudden urge to gather her closer and never let go.

Her breathing was not quite steady as she looked up at him, her eyes a dark mix of cool earth and warm amber. For a moment, she leaned closer or maybe it was him. The distance between them shortened.

Then with a quite exclamation, Lothiriel pushed away, stepping a safe distance away from him.

Eomer wished he didn't feel so disappointed.

* * *

**A/N: **ok, so I had so much fun writing this chapter because Lothiriel is just such an oblivious dork who has it bad for Eomer and I like torturing her. Also, I'm a sucker for bed tropes.

Once again, thank you for reviewing and following and favoriting! I love you guys.

I'm kinda nervous about the next chapter, which I'll post next week hopefully, because I'll be introducing my secondary pairing. Three guesses as to who it's gonna be!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Lothiriel was not a morning person. She had barely managed to fall asleep last night, before Amrothos showed up at her door at the crack of dawn, annoyingly cheerful as he asked her to saddle his horse.

"I need to go run some errands for father," he said, pulling the covers off her, "So be quick about it, okay, little sister? And while you're there, can you clean out Dasher's stall as well?"

She replied by tossing a pillow in his gleeful face. Unfazed, Amrothos tossed it back and told her he would be coming by the stables after grabbing some breakfast, so she had better get to it.

She plotted various ways to poison her own brother as she got out of bed, stumbled to her dresser and pulled on her work clothes, which consisted of said brother's old pair of trousers and tunic. Grabbing a hat to keep her hair away from her face, Lothiriel made her way to the stables, grumbling all the way.

This was the last time she participated in any games. She was going to spend the rest of her life staying away from cards, or wagers, or forfeits of any type.

She was also going to spend the rest of her life staying away from the King of Rohan's bedroom. In the light of day, her actions last night made her want to hit her head against a wall, repeatedly.

She imagined what it would be like to find a practical stranger in her own bed, and groaned in embarrassment. No wonder Eomer had thought she wanted to seduce him into marriage. Lothiriel almost laughed out loud at that, like she could seduce him even if she tried.

So much for avoiding him. She was supposed to keep away from him, not give him more reason to develop a poor opinion of her. And yet, she continued to make foolish decisions when it came to that man.

_Not anymore_, she thought, as she reached the stables, renewing her resolve to avoid him like the plague.

But it was becoming increasingly evident it would be harder to do than she had thought. For one, they did live under the same roof and she was bound to run into him sooner or later. And also, it was now clear to Lothiriel that she tended to do stupid things when it came to Eomer, and there was no guarantee that she would not do something stupid again.

_At the least, if I ever see him shirtless again I'll run in the opposite direction_, she vowed.

Feeling quite vexed with herself, Lothiriel grabbed a shovel and moved to the stall where Amrothos' horse, Dasher, was kept. She took out her frustrations on a pile of horse manure as she got to work cleaning out the stall.

In her enthusiasm she almost missed the sound of someone approaching. Stopping she looked up and inhaled sharply as she saw Eomer, as if summoned by her very thoughts, his long-legged strides eating up the distance between them.

Lothiriel felt herself flush and her stomach flutter in a mixture of dread and anticipation. At the moment, she would have preferred to face the Dark Lord than him. Valar, she was not prepared to face him, not when she was only half awake and feeling less than generous with herself.

Eomer was coming closer now, surely not to talk to her. Alarmed, Lothiriel turned away, remembering her newly strengthened resolve to avoid him like the plague. Before she could think on what to do, she heard him call out to her, but he had not recognized her because he was calling her _lad_.

He had not recognized her! Seeing her chance, Lothiriel walked quickly into the stall behind her, keeping her head low.

She started to shut the stall door close, but he was there suddenly. He easily pushed it open and stepped inside. Lothiriel inched away as he stepped close to her.

He inquired after his saddle, thinking she was a stable boy. That was good, very good. If she played her cards right, she could be out of here without him ever knowing.

And then of course, that was the moment she tripped, her hat flying off, as she landed on a pile of hay before him.

"Princess." Eomer's eyes widened as he instantly recognized her.

His gaze traveled over her clothes, and Lothiriel blushed as she realized she was hardly in proper attire for a princess. Before she could pull herself up, Eomer extended his hand.

Resigned, she took it and hauled herself up, at the same time as he pulled. Quicker than she could blink, she was falling against him, his arms going around her instinctively to steady her.

Lothiriel could feel her heart jolt in her chest. The feel of his body pressed against hers reminded her of last night, when he'd had her pinned on his bed. She shivered involuntarily.

For a long while, they stood there like that, so close that she could detect a faint whiff of soap off him and a pleasant mixture of leather, musk and horse. She inhaled deeply and looked up at him. His face was close to hers, causing her stomach to flutter at the way his eyes were focused on her, giving her that strange feeling again that he could see into her very mind.

Like last night, there was something in his expression that brought fire to her face. Her heart was pounding now, her breath unsteady, and she realized that Eomer was breathing hard too.

Somehow, against all odds, a tiny bit of sense left in her made Lothiriel extricate herself from him.

She stepped away, crossing her arms, "What are you doing here?"

Eomer's face closed off, his composed mask falling into place as he looked down at her and mirrored her pose, "I could ask you the same. Strange how we seem to run into each other so often."

Lothiriel narrowed her eyes, "Are you assuming that I somehow conspired this too? To run into you at the stables at the crack of dawn. Well, fear not. I assure you, I prefer to be back in bed."

Eomer stared at her, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly.

"In my own bed. Sleeping." Lothiriel cleared her throat, glaring at him for good measure and turned away to grab a broom.

Ignoring Eomer, or pretending to at the least, she got busy sweeping hay that had scattered from her fall. She had had little sleep last night and was feeling more than a little cross with Amrothos and with herself, and was not in the mood for Eomer and the way he tended to make her composure all but disappear.

Somehow, he always tended to catch her at the most inopportune moments. Lothiriel was frustrated, she wanted to put down her broom and tell him she was a graceful, dignified and intelligent princess. She had impeccable manners, good sense, and an adequate amount of wit. She was a healer's apprentice, an upstanding citizen. She followed the rules and never did anything she ought not do.

Except when it came to him.

"Lothiriel," Eomer said from behind her, his voice soft. The sound of her name made her pause. "Will you look at me?"

Slowly, she turned, resting her hands on the broom handle as she raised a brow in question. To her surprise, Eomer looked apologetic, running a hand through his hair nervously as he shifted.

"I know you didn't conspire this. And I apologize for last night, for thinking that you were scheming against me."

Lothiriel blinked in surprise. The last thing she had expected from him was an apology, a sincere one at that, and it quite threw her off. Eomer was looking at her earnestly, looking so unsure that her anger melted right away, unmasking the tentative warmth she felt in his presence.

"I- I suppose I understand why you would think-" she started to say.

"No, I made some pretty foolish assumptions last night. It was unfair of me, to both you and your father. I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I ask for it regardless."

Again, she blinked in surprise. Feeling awkward all of a sudden, Lothiriel swallowed thickly. If he could admit his mistakes then so could she.

"I should apologize too, my lord, for coming into your room unannounced." She offered.

"You were naturally concerned for your guest, princess. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Still, I could have managed that better." She shrugged.

Eomer inclined his head in agreement, amusement lighting up his eyes.

"Well, you know what I think?" Lothiriel said straightening to point the broom handle at him. "I think you've been introduced to all the wrong sort of ladies at court. There are plenty of other more interesting noble ladies, ladies without _cunning schemes _and_ false tongues_."

"Yes, I'm starting to realize that." Eomer said, taking a step towards her.

"Good. If you want, I can introduce you to some of them." Lothiriel offered, leaning back as Eomer stepped closer. "What are you doing?"

"Hold still." He said, his voice quiet. One of his hands crept up towards her face.

Lothiriel's eyes widened as he stopped inches from her, then closed tightly. A moment later, she felt a coarse cloth moving over her cheek. Her eyes shot open.

"What _are_ you doing?" She asked in confusion, leaning away from the piece of linen he held.

Eomer looked at her, using his other hand to tilt her face towards him. "You had a smudge on your cheek. Don't worry, the cloth's clean."

Considering that she'd been shoveling horse manure not ten minutes ago, she could guess what the smudge on her cheek was. Alarmed, she grabbed Eomer's hand, the one rubbing her cheek clean.

"Give me the cloth, I'll do it." She said.

"No." He raised his brow, going back to rub at her face.

"No?" She squirmed under his hold.

"Stop moving, it's almost done."

"You're taking too long."

"Well, that's because it's hardened now. It needs more rubbing."

"It needs to be wet, to make it easier."

"What in Eru's name are you doing?"

Lothiriel and Eomer stopped their struggle for the cloth and turned towards the stall entrance. Amrothos stood there, his mouth agape and his eyes wide as he looked them over.

"Oh, you're here already." Lothiriel said, letting go of Eomer's hand and stepping away. "I haven't saddled your horse yet, I'll go fetch it."

"Wait," Eomer grabbed her arm, halting her. "Do you know where I can find Firefoot's saddle?"

"Probably in the tack room at the back. Follow me, I'll show you." Lothiriel offered.

She made to leave the stall, but Amrothos moved in front of her, blocking her path.

"You know what, Lothiriel," her brother said, shooting a glare past her at Eomer, "Why don't you go back? I'll show Eomer to the tack room."

"Yes, but I have to saddle your horse for you. I lost the forfeit, remember?" Lothiriel said, shaking her head as she tried to move past Amrothos.

"No, no, no, it's fine. I can saddle Dasher on my own." He blocked her again.

"But the forfeit-"

"I'm relieving you from the forfeit."

Lothiriel looked at Amrothos. Something was wrong, her brother was acting unlike himself.

"Are you well, Amrothos?" She asked, her eyes narrowed as she looked at him.

Amrothos smiled benignly at her, before shooting a nasty look over her shoulder. At Eomer? Why would he do that?

"I'm quite well, Lothiriel." He said.

Strange as it was, she was not foolish enough to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Amrothos wanted to withdraw the forfeit, then she would accept. She did not fancy the thought of waking up so early for a week, after all.

"All right. You can't take it back now." She said. Turning, she pointed at Eomer, "And you'll be the acting witness to his statement."

With that, Lothiriel pushed Amrothos aside and gleefully went back to the house.

She thought of her bed longingly. If only she could catch a little more sleep. But, since she was awake already, Lothiriel decided to go to her workroom so she could prepare that salve for Eomer.

Crossing the entrance hall, she went to the archway leading to the back garden. There, she went to her workroom which was an old gardening shed, now converted into a place where she kept her herbs and made her medicines with them.

Lothiriel had been young when she decided she wanted to learn the healing arts. Around that time, her home, Dol Amroth, had only had one healer who often had to travel to neighboring settlements to provide his services to the people there. It was a large burden on only one healer.

When she was around nine years old, at such an occasion where the healer had been away from the castle, her mother had contracted a sudden illness that took her life. She remembered the day vividly, the helplessness and the waiting as her mother had struggled with breathing, and she and her family could just stand and watch. Elphir had ridden out that day, to bring the healer as soon as possible, but by the time they had returned it had been too late.

The healer had concluded that it was something her mother had eaten that had caused a bad reaction, akin to poisoning. It could have been countered with proper medication, had the healer been there.

Ever since that day, it had been Lothiriel's dream to learn the healing arts so she could help the people of Dol Amroth. She had gained much experience during her time as an apprentice at the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith, and Lothiriel wanted to implement her knowledge to set up a similar establishment in her hometown and train more healers so that never could the people in her home be helpless again.

It was also her apprenticeship as a healer that had made Lothiriel discover her passion for herbs. She preferred working with plants, growing them, studying them. There was a calm in it that she had come to value.

It was this calm she now sought, as she gathered the ingredients for making the salve. She was in desperate need of some calm.

A certain King of Rohan was proving to be too much of a torment to her. The way she felt about him was dangerous, especially because now she had a terrible suspicion that her attraction to him was no longer just physical.

If Eomer had been merely good to look at, she could have felt safe around him. But there were depths to him as she was discovering. Depths that were pulling her in deeper, and she had to be careful before it was too late and she drowned.

* * *

Imrahil, the twenty-second Prince of Dol Amroth, was a firm believer of routine.

Since the war, he had settled into an efficient and productive one where he woke up at dawn every day, dressed and rode to the lowest level of the city to supervise the construction work. The outer wall of the city had taken extensive damage in the siege of Minas Tirith, and Imrahil had taken up the responsibility of making sure it was sufficiently repaired in time for Aragorn's coronation.

Delegating the construction tasks for the day, he rode back to his house in time to break his fast with his family. Afterwards, he had the morning council meeting to attend at the citadel.

By midmorning, Imrahil was in his study, as per routine, going through his correspondence and attending to his administrative duties.

He had news from Elphir. His eldest son was managing the seaside Dol Amroth principality for as long as Imrahil remained in Minas Tirith. His reports were promising, the fishing season was going well and the sea trade had begun to be reestablished now the threat of corsair attacks was abolished.

Imrahil enjoyed the peace and quiet of his study as he wrote out a reply. It was a warm day, the wide window across his desk open to let in bright sunshine and a soothing breeze. He had made himself comfortable, his coat draped behind his seat leaving him in his shirtsleeves.

The sound of his quill scratching against parchment was interrupted by a sound all of a sudden. Puzzled, Imrahil paused in his writing and listened.

The sound came again, from the hallway outside his door. If he wasn't mistaken, it sounded like the meowing of a cat.

Imrahil had a dislike for domestic pets, so he had never allowed his children to have a pet in the house. He especially disliked cats, and so he was alarmed to hear the sound, which was unmistakably a meow, come from the hall again.

Sighing, he set down his quill and ran a hand over his forehead. No doubt, it was either Lothiriel or Amrothos up to something troublesome as usual. Pushing back from his desk, he went to the door to investigate.

He had to put a stop to this before his children managed to sneak a cat into his house, or the next thing he'd know all his furniture would be scratched up and there would be cat hair everywhere.

Exiting his study, Imrahil strode down the hallway, following the meowing sounds. He turned a corner and stopped short.

The hallway was deserted, apart from a petite woman crouching beside a low settee. The only thing visible was her backside, the skirts of her pink dress falling around it in a rather flattering way. The rest of her was hidden as she tried to reach underneath the piece of furniture.

There was no cat in sight, and Imrahil realized where the meowing sounds were coming from… the woman.

"Meow," she said again, stretching to reach something just beyond her reach.

The new angle offered him a nicer view. Unnerved, he looked upwards, mentally searching for patience.

He cleared his throat. Loudly.

Startled, the woman gasped and got up as if burned. Or rather, she tried to get up but bumped her head on the underside of the settee pretty hard.

"Ouch," she exclaimed, extracting herself from under the furniture more carefully, her hand going to rub at her head.

With surprise, Imrahil recognized the bright red hair of the woman, as she slowly straightened up from the floor. It was Lady Miwien, his daughter's friend. He knew her father quite well, but he had only met the lady on a handful of occasions. On those handful of occasions, he had got the impression that the lady was well-meaning but rather loud and a bit scattered. Finding her in his home, crouching under his furniture and meowing only reinforced his opinion.

The lady in question now turned around to face him, her hand still rubbing over the bump on her head. She looked mildly annoyed, and ready to say something (to scold him, no doubt) but as she saw him she froze. The color seemed to drain from her face and her hand dropped to her side, nerveless.

"M-my lord," she managed to say, her eyes going wide.

She looked frozen, her large eyes big and shocked, her mouth gaping open. She looked as if she expected him to smite her down for finding her the way he had. But Imrahil was merely concerned, and took a step closer, his hand extended in a gesture of peace.

"Lady Miwien, are you well? You seemed to have hit your head pretty hard." he said, indicating the settee.

She swallowed, her throat moving up and down, as she looked up at him, "Yes, I am well."

"Are you sure?" Imrahil was not convinced, especially because she was looking quite pale.

Her expression was one of panic and alarm, and she stood rigid. Imrahil could read fear well, and he wondered why she was afraid. Not of him, surely? Schooling his expression into one of calm, he took another step closer and tried to look at her in a hopefully non-threatening manner.

"Are you sure you do not need anything?" he asked.

She shook her head quickly.

"Then, if I may ask, why were you on the floor? Have you lost something?"

At that, Miwien seemed to gather herself, looking around her frantically. "Yes, actually, my lord. Um… your highness."

She looked up, confused as to how to address him. Before he could help himself, he spoke.

"Just Imrahil, please." he offered, smiling kindly. Or he hoped he appeared kindly.

"Imrahil…" she uttered, seeming surprised that he would allow her the use of his given name. He was surprised too.

Unwilling to dwell on it too much, he slowly approached her, grasping her shoulders in a comforting gesture. She was stiff beneath him.

"Now, lady Miwien, there is no need to be alarmed." he said, "Tell me what you have lost and I will help you look for it."

She opened her mouth to speak, but she had hardly gotten two words out before Imrahil inhaled and abruptly let go of her, for something sharp was suddenly digging into his right leg. It felt like tiny needles stabbing and lacerating his flesh, and, to his horror, the sensation was climbing up his leg.

He looked down and saw some kind of monster, a small creature that could only be a spawn of Ungoliant, with black fur, and sharp claws that ripped into his flesh as the beast ascended over his shin and reached his thigh. Dismayed, Imrahil shook his leg to dislodge the evil being, but it only dug in his claws and held fast.

"Wait! He'll run away again." Lady Miwien cried out, dropping to her knees before him, one hand going behind his thigh to hold him still.

Since Imrahil's leg was suspended in the air, the action caused him to lose his balance and he faltered before tilting forward. He went down, using his arms to brace his weight so he did not crush Miwien, as they both tumbled to the floor.

A beat passed, before he dared to assess the damage. He had landed on Miwien, who was sprawled on the floor beneath him breathing hard, winded from the fall. Her face appeared flushed as she looked up at him, her brown eyes so close that he could see his face reflected in them. With a jolt, Imrahil slowly registered the fact that they were pressed close to each other, intimately close, with his legs nestled between her thighs and his arms cradling her petite body.

He may be getting on in years, but he was not so old that the close proximity to a beautiful woman did not affect him. Flustered by his response to her, Imrahil pushed himself off, then extended a hand to help her sit.

"Are you hurt, Lady Miwien?" he asked, raking his gaze over her to see if there was any injury.

She blushed under his scrutiny, fixing her dress which had ridden up a little revealing stocking clad calves and ankles for just a fleeting moment. Rather pretty calves and ankles, if he was being honest. He averted his eyes back to her face.

"I am fine." she said, smoothing down her skirts. "And please, call me Miwien."

She did not look harmed by the fall, but she no longer looked intimidated by him either. Her face was flushed, rather than pale, and she looked away from him due to nerves rather than fear.

Also, Imrahil noticed with relief that the little dark creature that had caused the event was no longer stabbing its claws in his flesh. Instead, it now sat next to the settee, a tiny pink tongue licking at its paws with no care to the world. With some alarm, he realized the creature was a small kitten.

Miwien noticed him at the same time as Imrahil, rushing towards it. "Feanor! There you are, finally, you naughty boy."

_Feanor_ looked straight at Imrahil with a yellow glare, as he allowed Miwien to pick him up, who cradled him close to her in joy. He opened his mouth, revealing sharp little canines, and let out a tiny mewl.

Imrahil was not impressed.

"I take it, you were looking for this creature earlier." he said to Miwien, standing up from the floor.

"Yes," Miwien looked at him cautiously, still cradling Feanor as if he was the most precious thing on Arda. Standing, she gave him an apologetic look. "I hope he did not hurt you, when he climbed your leg earlier. His claws are a bit sharp, but he means well."

Imrahil doubted that. That thing had been aiming for his family jewels, and Imrahil had managed to dislodge it not a moment too soon.

"Miwien, forgive me, but I do not like pets in my house." Imrahil sighed, glaring at Feanor, unwilling to cow to it.

"Oh," she froze, before holding her kitten protectively, as if it needed protection from him, "I apologize. I just wanted to show him to Lothiriel. He is a bit mischievous and managed to run away for awhile. It won't happen again."

"See that it won't." Imrahil said.

With a small bow, he turned and walked back to his study, trying not to feel guilty at the way he had left Miwien cradling her cat in the hallway.

The rest of the morning passed slowly for him, the peace he valued so much now eluding him as he sat in his study once more. To his dismay, he was unable to focus on his work, his mind instead occupied by the young woman he had run into just now.

He had no idea why she had been afraid of him. Maybe, she thought he would scold her for bringing a cat in his house, or maybe because he had caught her in an embarrassing position and she feared his influence. Whatever the reason, he did not like that he scared her. He wanted to go to her, reassure her and remove that fear from her.

But it did not matter what she thought of him. It should not matter.

Sighing, Imrahil picked up his quill and tried to resume the letter he was writing.

* * *

**A/N: **hey everyone! Here's chapter four which introduces my secondary pairing, which is Miwien/Imrahil, if you hadn't guessed by now. I've always wanted to write an Imrahil pairing after I read **Lady Bluejay's** 'World of Difference' and I hope to do it justice, despite the age difference between the characters. But that's one of the things I feel would make the pairing interesting.

Also, I'm really sorry for the super late update. I had exams which completely threw my weekly update schedule off. My exams are still ongoing though so I can't promise when I'll next update, but hopefully soon.

Again, thank you for reading and taking out the time to fav and review. I read every single review and even just a few words make my day!

Also **Aylatha **pointed out in a review that Eomer should not be taller than Imrahil and his sons because they have the advantage of having more Numenorean blood, so technically, while tall Eomer should still not be taller than the princes of Dol Amroth. And she's right, but in my fangirl enthusiasm I have made Eomer as much taller or slightly taller than them. I'm not going to change that detail so let's just assume that genetics were very kind to him.

**EugeniaVictoria **also pointed out that it's very out of character for Lothiriel, a well-bred princess of a noble house, to go to a man's room at night. Lothiriel did that because she has a tendency to become obsessive and anxious over an issue and she really believed that she had to help Eomer and to do that she had to go to his room. Of course, impulsive actions rarely seem like a bad idea at the moment, and in this chapter Lothiriel is already regretting her actions.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

There were some moments where Lothiriel felt like being a Healer's apprentice was the best thing in the whole world.

One such moment had been when she had helped deliver a baby for the first time. The first cry of the babe, the mother's relief and the father's awe had been such a precious moment.

Another moment that she adored was watching the joy on a little boy's face when he had been able to walk for the first time in his life with the help of a clever little brace the mistress Ioreth had designed.

Then there were moments where she wished she had some ancient magic or elven powers to make her work easier for her. Or, in this particular case, she wished for the fortitude of a troll's nose.

Lothiriel was currently hunched over a bubbling cauldron of goo that wafted the smell of rotten eggs with a hint of orc breath. The noxious fumes curled through the air and into her sinuses, turning her brain to mush. The smell was potent enough to make her head swim, which was a good thing because it meant that the ointment she was making was also of the right potency.

Wiping the thin sheen of sweat that had formed on her brow, she reached on a table beside her and added another handful of the dreadfully fragrant (and aptly named) skunk cabbage leaves to the cauldron, stirring it vigorously into the goo. Hopefully, the smell would die down once she'd cooled and bottled the ointment for use. Though it burned a person's nose off, the ointment had a multitude of benefits in preventing wounds from festering and relieving pain.

Using her ladle, Lothiriel scooped up a small amount of the goo and spread on the back of her hand. It was the exact color and consistency of cat vomit. Which meant a successfully completed batch.

Carefully, she lifted the handle of the cauldron and withdrew it from the hearth, setting it on the cool stone floor by the only window in the room. Wiping her hands on her apron, Lothiriel went to a cupboard and grabbed a handful of glass jars.

As the contents of the cauldron cooled, Lothiriel went to sit by the open window, drawing in a refreshing breath of cool air. She was currently in a brewing room on the upper level of the Houses, and her window looked out over the garden with its neat little rows of plants and a fountain sporting the figure of a nymph with water spouting from her hands.

The heat of the day was tempered by the cooling touch of wind, and Lothiriel closed her eyes to savor the sensation. A distant murmur of masculine voices interrupted the tinkling of the fountain below.

Her heart stuttered as if it knew what she would find even before her eyes flew open and landed on a figure below. Of course, it was none other than the King of Rohan, currently walking towards the garden with a red haired Rohirrim who limped beside him, aided by a crutch.

She recognized him as one of the riders who was recuperating in the Houses.

Eomer seemed to be listening intently as the rider talked animatedly, his mouth pulling into a huge grin at something the king said. With a few more fast-paced words, the rider bowed to Eomer, before turning and walking away, a skip in his steps evident despite his limp.

Eomer watched him go, running a hand through his hair. Then he turned towards the fountain, his frown apparent even from this distance. Lothiriel wondered what had transpired to make him look so glum. By all appearances, it had been a happy tale the man before had been telling him, so it didn't explain the pensiveness on his face now.

Eomer's shoulders stiffened imperceptibly then, and as if pulled by a string his face lifted and looked right at her.

Acutely conscious of her sweaty and unkempt appearance, she almost crouched out of sight before thinking the better of it. She had made a fool of herself around him enough times, it was better to just be nonchalant.

She just happened to be looking out the window and he just happened to be standing there, it was not like she was watching him or spying on him.

So she raised her hand in greeting, unable to keep a soft smile stretching her lips. She was about to call out to him, wondering if his ribs were better.

Before she could though, Eomer turned and then walked away into the Houses.

Ah, so he was not in the mood to chat.

It must not have been a happy conversation, after all. Whatever he had been talking about with his rider evidently weighed heavy on his shoulders.

Lothiriel tried to imagine the difficulties he must be facing in having the responsibilities of a whole people thrust on him so suddenly. She supposed she could empathize with him.

Still, if there was anyone more suited for the noble mantle of King, Lothiriel could not imagine someone more worthy than Eomer. From the long moments she had spent observing him, she knew that his men looked up to him, and would lay down their lives for him within a heartbeat. It only took a certain kind of leader to inspire that sort of loyalty from someone. And no matter how heavy his newfound burdens, Eomer certainly had the shoulders to carry them.

* * *

Dinner that night was more enjoyable for Lothiriel. No longer worried that Eomer would keel over and pass out in his soup from some mysterious wound, she was able to spend more time participating in the discussions taking place around the table.

Faramir had joined them tonight, and he was currently arguing in favor of intellectual pursuits with Erchirion.

"Just teach a man to recognize the constellations in the sky," he was saying, "and he will never get lost."

"Why spend years poring over books and letting your body rot," Erchirion retorted, chewing on a piece of stewed beef. "A man should spend his youth outdoors, whether it's training, riding, sailing. He will learn much more useful things from experience than from sitting with books all day."

"What do you think about this, Lothiriel?" Faramir said, turning to her with an amused smile.

Lothiriel rather thought he was trying to lobby an ally; her own love of books was no big secret. Being quite a peacemaker by nature, she declined to reinforce his side.

"Well, I think both are equally important. A healer, for instance, will only be as good as his experience, but to make sound judgements he must also be learned in books and knowledgeable in his craft."

"Very wise, sister." Amrothos said, raising his glass, while Erchirion and Faramir scowled at her.

Faramir then turned to Eowyn, and asked her own opinion.

"I'm sorry to say I have to side with Erchirion on this," she said, laughing, "I personally have never read a book that taught me anything useful."

"Ah, we'll have to fix that. I have some books on gardening which I can lend you, if you like." Lothiriel said.

Soon, the conversation turned to suggestions on useful books that both Eowyn and Erchirion could find of benefit.

Without her permission, Lothiriel's gaze wandered over to the opposite side of the table. Eomer was sitting there, on her father's right, and the both of them were engrossed in a serious conversation, lost in their own bubble of something important no doubt.

The strange pensive mood from earlier in the day still clung to him, and it concerned her greatly. Before dinner, she had greeted him and tried to strike up a conversation but he had barely said two words in reply before excusing himself. Whatever was bothering him about his business, she hoped her father would help him and offer sound advice.

But, perhaps, something else was the matter. Could it be that he hadn't found her salve after all. It couldn't hurt, resolved Lothiriel, to enquire.

So, after dinner was concluded, and her father retired to his study, and the rest of the group decided to take to the parlor with cards again, Eomer politely declined again and took his leave.

"Excuse me one moment." Lothiriel said to the room at large, as she went after him.

She caught him at the stairs and called out to him.

Eomer stopped, and turned around, his expression politely enquiring.

"My lord, I hope you got my salve. Are your ribs better now?" she asked as she sidled up to him.

"Yes, thank you." he replied curtly, and Lothiriel assumed he was answering to both her questions.

"I'm glad to hear that," she clasped her hands before her, "If there is anything else you require, please, don't hesitate to ask."

"I require nothing. You have been quite generous, my lady." with that, he gave a stiff bow, and turned away once more.

Somehow, his curt manner grated. It seemed somewhere between this morning and now, a shield had been raised between them, keeping everything but general courtesy from showing.

A horrible suspicion entered her mind, and Lothiriel called out before she could think better of it.

"Have I done something?"

Eomer stopped, and she climbed a few steps to catch up to him.

"Are you still angry because of last night? If so, do know I am sincerely sorry about it. In fact, I won't ever do it again."

"It's nothing." Eomer said.

"I- forgive me but I believe something _is_ bothering you. Is there nothing I can do to help?"

Finally Eomer turned to her, looking directly into her eyes.

She fidgeted as he gazed down on her. There was a touch of hardness to them that she hadn't been expecting.

"This morning," he started, "Amrothos, when he discovered us alone, he thought there might be an understanding between the two of us."

"What? That is simply not true. Surely you told him the truth."

"I did." Eomer said, exhaling sharply. "I made it quite clear to him that there is nothing between us. We are merely acquaintances. And I want to make it clear to you too."

"To me?"

"Yes, I don't wish to give you false hopes."

Lothiriel froze. The blood seemed to pool out of her face, before returning hotly in a rush. Embarrassment, then anger flashed through her in a dizzying blur. She buried the hurt before her eyes could speak it.

He could not be implying what she thought he was implying.

For several beats, she struggled to make her mouth form words, before she took the effort to look him directly in the eyes. His eyes were shuttered, and unreadable.

Her own, she was sure, must look crazed.

His walking away at the Houses today. His dismissal before dinner. His decision to retire early to his room.

He wasn't feeling burdened by his duties. He was rebuffing her.

"Is this the reason for your rudeness then?" she asked.

"I have not been rude-" Eomer started, taking a step towards her in affront.

"No, of course not. Just curt and generally insulting. And false hopes? I assure you, I have no hopes regarding you, my lord."

"No? Forgive me for thinking so, especially considering our last couple of encounters where you have always been eager to-"

Eomer cut himself off abruptly, but she could almost hear the rest of his sentence unsaid between them.

_Eager to throw yourself at me. Eager to seek me out. Eager to make a fool of yourself._

Her embarrassment became more acute, and Lothiriel found the air was refusing to fill her lungs completely.

"I have not been eager to do anything where you have been concerned," she snapped, her voice shrill and cutting. "There's a difference between admiring someone's looks and making advances at them. That day at the courtyard you may have overheard me doing the former, but never did I then nor since make any attempt at _eagerness_, my lord. I regret last night, you have no idea how much, but I was merely acting out of a misplaced sense of concern. And this morning, it was _you_ who caught me at the stables. And if you think caring for an injured person is so desperate, then you may return the salve I made for you, and we'll think no more of it."

Lothiriel was aware she sounded awful and defensive. But she could not seem to care.

She had been such a fool. Maybe she did have false hopes. After this morning, she had thought they might become friends.

"Clearly my first impression of you was correct." she continued, "You have no interest in anything but your own self. I wish I had dyed your helmet pink after all."

With that, she picked up her skirts, and made to stomp away. But then she turned again and stepped close to him.

"And another thing. I have no hopes for you, or anyone else, for I have no desire to marry, and especially not someone from Rohan. I have better ideas on what to occupy myself with. Just thought I'd make it clear, so _you_ do not get any false ideas either." she said.

Without waiting for a reply, she stomped downstairs, over to the back door and out to her garden.

Oh what a self-important man he was, to think that all she aspired in life was to have hopes of making a match with him. As if she didn't have her own dreams and future planned out already.

And even if she were of a mind to marry, she would prefer to marry someone closer to home, so she could be available to oversee the House of Healing in Dol Amroth once she had established one.

She could hardly do that all the way from Rohan.

After stewing in her garden for a while, and once she was sure enough time had elapsed for Eomer to have gone to his room, Lothiriel crept back inside and up the stairs.

_I have been such a fool,_ she thought.

Once again, when it came to the King of Rohan, sense just seemed to desert her.

Well, on the bright side, this little argument should at least have cured her infatuation of the infuriating man. His arrogance was truly astounding, and she wondered how she had ever found him attractive.

* * *

It was well past the hour of the rooster's first call, and Miwien yawned as she sat down for breakfast.

She had overslept again. Her father, chief scribe at the citadel, had already left, and the cook had cleared away the table so she was breaking her fast with some cold tea and cakes.

Every day she made a resolution to wake up early, so she could go for a bracing walk around the city, and perhaps go to market, and for once eat real breakfast with her father.

But every morning, right before the sun came up, one or the other of her cats would start meowing and force her up from bed so she could feed them and let them out. And then she would fall into bed exhausted, and the next she opened her eyes it would already be close to noon.

"I love you, you silly thing." She told her cat Artanis, who was currently riveted by the journey of Miwien's cream cake from her plate to her mouth. "But no, no cream for you, as usual."

Elurin, who was less patient than Artanis and infinitely more resourceful, sauntered over and jumped into her lap. Then, before Miwien could stop him, he proceeded to knock the cake out of her hand. It fell onto the floor, followed by Elurin who proceeded to devour it.

"Oh no, no no no." Miwien said, shooing away the horde of cats and kittens that had come sniffing the cake. "No cream for you lot."

Somehow, she managed to salvage the cake, or what was left of it, with just a few irate hisses.

Just then there was a firm knock at the door, and Miwien glanced up in surprise. She was expecting Lothiriel at noon, but it was still a bit early. Maybe she had finished her day at the Houses sooner.

When Miwien opened the door, it was not Lothiriel she found, but her friend's father. His hand was raised as if to knock again.

"Oh, good morning." she said, trying to sound normal.

Then she realized she was still in her night shift and robe, and holding a piece of half eaten cream cake. Wonderful.

"Good morning, Miwien." Imrahil replied, lowering his hand as he looked her over before quickly, and politely, returning his eyes to her face. "I have some papers I need to collect. Is your father available?"

"I'm sorry, he just left for the citadel." she said.

It was a clear dismissal, and very cowardly of her. But Miwien needed him to leave so she could go to her room and scream into her pillow for having Imrahil catch her in an embarrassing manner again.

Imrahil made no move to leave. He stepped a bit closer.

"I'm sure Lord Brandir wouldn't mind if I looked in his study for a while." he said, his eyes narrowed.

It was clear he wouldn't leave without those papers. And then, Miwien realized she was being unreasonably rude. Prince Imrahil, of all people, had come in person to her house on probably very important and urgent business and she was turning him away.

Flushing, she stepped aside to allow him to come in. "Since you are already here, I suppose you can come in, my lord."

She recalled he had given her leave to call him by his name during their last meeting, but now that he was in front of her again she was too intimidated to do that. 'My lord' would suffice, she decided.

He swept past her and into the entry, waiting for her to point him to her father's study.

Just then, Artanis, Elurin and their gang of kittens wandered in. Elurin, the sycophant that he was, promptly started purring and walking around Imrahil, rubbing his cheeks on his boots. He could probably small the royalty on him.

Imrahil quickly stepped back. Ah, so he still disliked cats.

Of course, Elurin followed, so Miwien rushed forward and picked him up.

"Stop that, Elurin." she frowned.

And then came the first sneeze. With Elurin held practically under his nose, Imrahil, the prince of Dol Amroth, was suddenly struck by an attack of sneezing. Great, jarring sneezes that even managed to scare the cats away.

Oh. Oh no. This must be the reason for his dislike of cats.

The cats may have gone away, but Imrahil's sneezing seemed to become more and more violent. No place in this house was safe for the likes of him, Miwien realized with increasing dread. This place was like a death trap and he had unknowingly walked right into it.

"Oh, one of our old maids used to have the same problem." Miwien suddenly recalled through her panic-filled thoughts.

The poor old lady, during the short time she had served in their household, used to be afflicted with sneezing too if she was around the cats for too long, though not as severely as Imrahil. There was only one cat-free place in their small house that seemed to help her get over the attacks.

She needed to get Imrahil there, before she had to deal with a passed out Prince of Dol Amroth. Or worse.

Grabbing his arm, she quickly ushered him down a hallway. At the end was a wooden door, and she pushed him inside, before closing the door firmly behind them.

Turning, she abruptly started regretting her decision. She should have just shoved Imrahil inside, and not followed in after. She had forgotten how small this closet was.

Yes, in a house full of cats, the only cat-free place was their linen closet. The three walls were crammed with shelves, a small high window opposite them letting in some light. She could hardly smell the starch or the cotton; Imrahil was standing so close that all her nose could pick up was the smell of him.

Whatever soap he used, her nose really liked it.

She tried to move back to put some more space between them, but the door was in her way. The small closet seemed to have shrunken somehow. Or maybe Imrahil was just that tall.

Miwien tilted her head back to look up at him. Yes he was tall. She was practically a halfling next to him (but then she was so short, she was a halfling next to pretty much everyone).

The interval between his sneezes was increasing more and more, and she was grateful for that. She wouldn't know what to do if he had fainted.

"It's okay, it's going to be alright, just breathe slowly and deeply." she said, not sure if she was instructing him or herself. Just to be safe, she took several deep breaths herself. "Just breathe. I'll fetch the papers you need, then we'll smuggle you outside, no harm done."

Imrahil reached into his tunic and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his face. Finally, he looked down at her.

"Valar, how many cats do you have?"

Miwien tried not to shrink into herself. "Um, only seven. Well, eight if you count Feanor."

"Sweet Elbereth. Why do you need so many bloody cats? And why are you afraid of me?" Imrahil snapped.

"I'm not afraid of you." Miwien flinched.

"Your actions speak otherwise."

"It's just that… well you're a very powerful man. You're a prince, a great commander of men, strong, brave and wise, and honorable. You're tall and handsome, and kind to those in need…"

Imrahil was looking at her with an expression close to confusion. As if she was a difficult puzzle he was trying to solve, and having limited success with.

It took a moment for Miwien to comprehend why. What she had just said sounded as if she was trying to compliment him. His closeness was clearly addling her brain, and making her less eloquent.

She inhaled sharply, and again his wonderful scent permeated her senses. He smelled like oranges, and clean male skin, and something spicy that invited her to put her nose against his neck to catch more of it.

"My point is," she tried again, her throat working in a swallow, "You're so traditional, and I'm, well, not. I can just tell you disapprove of me."

"I don't disapprove of you." Imrahil frowned.

"Yes you do! Firstly, you don't like my cats."

"I don't like anyone's cats."

"And also, you think I am a bad influence on Lothiriel."

"And pray, how are you so sure of what I think?"

At that, Miwien could not find anything to say.

"Tell me why you are really afraid of me. What do you think I'll do?" Imrahil asked, his voice not unkind.

"Because you make me nervous." she blurted. "I have never seen you smile and you are so big, and you know how to use your size to intimidate."

"Am I intimidating you right now?"

Miwien glanced at him in surprise. Imrahil was looking back at her, his previous annoyance now in check. In fact, he seemed gentle somehow, like he was trying to appear harmless.

It wasn't working very well. There was such strength in him, it poured out of him unbidden, and nothing could change that. She imagined even when he was an old man, stooped and grey, he would still be never mistaken as weak.

And yet, without doubt, she knew she would never be in danger of that strength. Above all else, this Prince of men valued honour, and never would he be so dishonourable as to use his power unjustly.

"No." she said truthfully to his question.

They stood in silence for a while. Nothing bares a person so much as silence and close scrutiny. And as Imrahil continued to study her, Miwien felt uncomfortably exposed. As if he was able to pick out every single thought and flaw on her face. And maybe he could.

To fill out the growing silence, her mouth opened and started pouring words out.

"To be honest, there was this one tutor I used to have when I was a young girl. He would have me memorize my lessons and then recite them from memory and if I got anything wrong he would make me stand in the corner for hours. He was mean too, making me sit still and read books he knew were too advanced for me." Miwien looked down, her throat working. "One day he made me copy a whole book in one sitting. No breaks, no food, no going to the privy. And it was the biggest book he could find. I was only allowed one candle. I wrote until my fingers stopped working. Then he made me write from the other hand. I told my father and he dismissed the tutor the very next day. Before he left, he said… some not so nice things to me."

"What did he say, Miwien?" Imrahil asked.

"He said… he said my father was wasting his money on getting me an education, since nobody would be mad enough to marry me. He said I should be educated on pleasing men instead, for all I'd ever be good enough for was to be someone's mistress."

"What is his name?" Imrahil growled.

"It doesn't matter. He was a miserable old fellow, and clearly I have managed to prove him wrong so far. I don't need to be a wife or a mistress. I'm content to live just for myself."

With her face down, Miwien saw him clench his fists. Then Imrahil went rigid.

"Do I remind you of him? Is that why you are so afraid of me." he asked, his voice quiet.

"Oh no. You are nothing like him and you don't remind me of him at all." Miwien said. "He was mean. And you, you would never be cruel or spiteful to anyone."

Slowly, Imrahil lifted a hand towards her. Miwien watched it as it came to rest on her shoulder. She thought he meant it as a comforting gesture, but instead a shiver went through her.

"Why would you not look at me?" he asked.

Sighing, Miwien lifted her eyes to his. She had always thought the color of his eyes looked like a cool rainfall, swift and punishing. But she was wrong, it wasn't cold at all.

She had been to the sea once, and his eyes now reminded her of the warm grey-blue waves at sunset, their warmth soothing and inviting her to sink into their depths.

"Because when I look at you, I think he was right. You are good and noble. And a man like you would never want a woman like me." Miwien whispered.

And there it was. Her most secret yearning was now known to him. She yearned for those hurtful words of her tutor to not be true. And yet, how could they not be?

Imrahil was the most noble man in Gondor. And he would never tolerate a wife like her: a woman who lived life by her own rules, who was free-spoken and untethered. Impulsive, forgetful and boisterous. And most of all, a woman barely clinging to respectability.

And if he would not have her, no gentleman would.

And so, it wasn't Imrahil, the Prince of Dol Amroth she feared, but rather all the secret dreams and desires of her that he represented.

"You speak as if you already know my mind." Imrahil finally said, his hand sliding down her arm to hold her hand, "You mistake me for being too perfect. And could a man like me ever want a woman like you? I would like to know the answer to that too, so allow me to escort you to the King's coronation feast."

Miwien blinked, her hand tingling where he held it. Was she hearing things or was he asking her out?

"You want to take me to the feast? As your partner?" she asked.

"Yes, so I can prove to you I'm not merely stern, and noble, and honorable. I'd like us to dance and drink and have fun. It has been many years since I have had a chance to do so." his eyes crinkled at the corners, as if he was smiling, though his mouth remained flat.

It was quite a good mouth too, wide and masculine, but softly appealing. It beckoned her to bite into it. Miwien pushed down the impulse to do so.

"Yes I- I would be honoured." she said, raising her eyes back to his.

"Good. I look forward to it." Imrahil said.

She felt her breath catch as they fell into a charged silence.

He was wrong about one thing. She made no mistake in thinking him too perfect, because that's what he was.

He was tall and incredibly handsome, the noble blood of Numenor embodied in his bold features. She knew he was much older than her, but he had this barely restrained strength and virility about him that made shivers unfold in her stomach. She was captured by him.

Imrahil took his own fill of her, his gaze touching her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. She felt it like a caress.

His eyes dipped lower, over the column of her neck, her collarbone. Miwien swallowed consciously, and he tracked the movement of her throat. With a shiver, she became aware of the sensation of his thumb gliding back and forth over the inside of her wrist where their hands were still joined.

Over the years at court, she had occasionally bandied in harmless flirtatious banter with several noblemen and courtiers. But never had she felt this scorching need to take action, to be closer to someone.

With a quick inhale, Miwien brought her free hand up. She needed to feel this man, before she lost her chance.

Unfortunately, she had forgotten she still clutched the mangled cream cake. She tried to halt her hand but it was too late.

The shivers of delight turned into shivers of horror as her hand came to rest on Imrahil's chest, smearing his pristine blue tunic with the remains of her breakfast.

"Oh dear." she groaned, as they both stared at the streak of cream on his chest.

Then Imrahil did something she had never seen him do. He threw back his head and laughed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Lothiriel was just cleaning up for the day, when mistress Ioreth approached her.

"Lothiriel, a word."

Wiping her hands on a clean rag, she followed Ioreth to a secluded corner in the room.

Ioreth was looking at her appraisingly, her small eyes shrewd but not unkind.

Lothiriel had known the master healer for many years, and very closely for the last three when Ioreth made the princess her direct apprentice and assistant. She was stern and had no patience for layabouts, but she respected hard work. And her knowledge and skills in the art of healing was rivaled by few.

"The king is going to appoint the Healers after his coronation." she said. "I think you are more than ready, so you will be there to receive your commission."

Lothiriel gaped, feeling a nervous shiver pass through her. For a moment she daren't believe she had heard right. Would she really finish her apprenticeship? Become a Healer in truth?

After years of hard work and learning, could she finally be one step closer to realizing her dreams?

And yet, a tiny niggle of doubt and anxiety crept into her. Was she truly ready to be a Healer?

"Are you sure, mistress Ioreth?" she couldn't help but ask. "There is still so much for me to learn."

"And there always will be. This is just the beginning and there are still many things to learn. But some things can only be learned by experience, and you are ready to take that next step." said Ioreth. "King Elessar will meet with the apprentices two days after the coronation. Be at the Houses by eight in the morning."

With that Lothiriel was dismissed for the day.

She stood there for a while, her heart elated but filled with anxiety too. Oh, it was all very nice to work towards a goal, but what now when she had almost achieved it. She was going to be a Healer, which wasn't so different from being an apprentice, except she would be making a lot more decisions on her own.

_Remember why you are doing this._ Lothiriel reminded herself, taking deep calming breaths.

Most apprenticeships lasted for more or less five years anyway, so she knew this day would come soon. And now she would take this chance to further groom her skills until such a day when she established her own Houses of Healing in Dol Amroth.

With that thought in mind, she went back to washing up before heading home for the day.

It was late afternoon, the time Lothiriel usually got off from her time at the Houses. Changed out of her Healer's robes into a clean blue gown, she walked home in a merry mood.

So good was her mood in fact, that Lothiriel took her usual route, instead of the longer one she had made sure to take for the past several days.

Her usual route which ran by the courtyard near the Citadel where the Rohirrim had, of course, taken to have sparring sessions in the afternoon.

The very same courtyard where she had caught Eomer shirtless a week or so ago.

Lothiriel did not realize this until she was under a very familiar archway and paused at the sight of many men moving about in the courtyard.

Only then did she realize the mistake she had made.

Since their little argument some days ago, Lothiriel's attempts to avoid a certain blond king had proven more fruitful. Partly due to the fact that she made a point to ignore his presence when she had to suffer it, and partly because after weeks of observing him she had an idea of his routine and made sure to stay away from places where he would be expected to be at the time.

This is why she had changed her route home so she would not have to pass by the courtyard where Eomer sparred with his men.

Of course, she could never fully avoid him while she was working at the Houses, and Eomer came there often to see his men. Thankfully, he never seeked her out and they never had cause to exchange words.

Oh but she was here now, and there Eomer was, sparring with his men as expected, though this time he kept his tunic on his person. And, despite her very best attempts, her eyes still followed him.

Something in the way he handled his sword, maybe his powerful posture, or the graceful swinging of his arms, was captivating. Even a little mesmerizing. Perhaps a bit… arousing too.

Just looking at the powerful bulge of his biceps, and the way he moved around his partner with surprising control for his size, caused flutters to erupt in her middle and a flush to creep in her cheeks.

Not for the first time, Lothiriel cursed her attraction towards the man. It was as if, looks wise, he fulfilled all her ideals, even if she hadn't been aware of what her ideals had been. But now, to her, all other men paled in comparison.

If only, his personality was not so rotten. If only he was a bit more outspoken. If only, he was capable of laughing occasionally.

As she surreptitiously watched Eomer, and lamented, she noticed that his sparring partner was the same red-haired man from the Houses a few days ago. The one with the limp.

Eomer's movements were deliberately slow and controlled, as if he was testing the abilities of his injured soldier, who was clearly trying his best to meet the king's sword stroke for stroke. Then, with a remarkable show of dexterity, the man managed to swing out, using all the strength of his upper body, to deflect Eomer's blow and disarm him quickly.

This was a good thing, for not a moment later Eomer threw back his head and let out a laugh, moving to slap the man on his back as the two of them talked and grinned excitedly.

Alright, so his personality was not so rotten, and he could be outspoken and he was capable of laughing then.

Shaking her head, Lothiriel moved back and resumed her journey home.

It had been like this for the last several days now.

Where at first, her embarrassment had fueled her attempts at avoiding the King of Rohan, this time it was solely for diplomatic purposes.

She was sure, if she ran into him, she wouldn't be able to help but give him a good kick in the shin, and that would hardly do any favors for the political relations between their countries.

So, for the past days, her anger at the man had mounted, for she could not imagine what it was about her that caused him to behave so boorishly. Why, she had even thought they could become friends, but no.

Well, it didn't matter. King Elessar's coronation was only a few days away now, and then it would be over, and Eomer would go back to Rohan, and she would be free of him.

And hopefully free of this miserable attraction to him. Because, by the Valar, even when angry at him, she still found him beyond irresistible.

Every time he would come to the Houses, Lothiriel would know, her body betraying her by reacting to his presence. She kept away and kept busy, but her lightly flushed cheeks and straying eyes would giver her away.

She could hardly stop her eyes from observing, save by keeping them shut. And that she could not do while at work.

So, she observed him and his men. It was hard to miss, the excitement in the air and the almost reverent way his men would sit taller on their beds, and look more attentive. As if he had come to call them to arms and they were ready to follow him to whatever end.

Spending so much time around the Rohirrim, Lothiriel had come to know them a bit better, and she found herself scrutinising Eomer through their eyes.

For all intents and purpose, these stalwart men had never imagined they would call him king. And yet, the mantle had fallen on his shoulders, and they were more than ready to follow him. They trusted him, she realized, and they knew he would lead them well.

Already, his frequent visits to the Houses meant a lot to his men. The fact that he took his time to listen to what they had to say almost made her forget her anger at him.

But, though his men seemed to take solace and comfort from his visits, Eomer himself would leave with the furrow in his brow deeper and his frown more pronounced. As if he absorbed the men's worries into himself. Though he was always easygoing and smiling when he was talking to them, every time his back was turned the same pensive frown would appear on his face.

Lothiriel tried not to take such notice of him. It was embarrassing, the amount of time she spent studying the nuances of his expressions. But she knew whatever troubled him regarding his men was weighing heavier and heavier on his shoulders.

Though he was abysmal to her, she could not deny his concern over his men was genuine and heartening.

And that made a grudging respect for the man flare up in her.

He was willing to put his people first, do everything in his power to ensure they were given security and shelter. His men, she realized, knew just as well which is why they were so fiercely loyal to him.

They had a champion, someone who knew their worries and had solutions to ease them.

Lothiriel wondered if there was anyone to ease Eomer's worries.

Unfortunately, she was not the one for that job.

She knew Eomer worried for a lot of things, least of all for his men who were still not well enough to leave the care of the Healers at the Houses.

The time was near for the king to depart, and most of his men wished to go back to Rohan with him. Lothiriel knew it was difficult for them to be confined to the Houses in a strange city, in the care of foreign healers, with no say to their autonomy. Being a patient was a stressful experience in itself, and not entirely good for the health of the mind.

And though she understood that well, and empathized with the Rohirrim, she knew many of them were still not well enough for a long journey. It would be taxing enough, and when they reached home they would require further care which would be hard to come by because Healers in Rohan were even more scarce than in Gondor.

And yet, knowing all this, there could be no stopping the Rohirrim who were eager to return home after such a difficult time. Lothiriel knew that.

And Eomer knew that too, hence the reason for his constant frown.

* * *

**A/N: **hello everyone! Thank you for sticking with my story so far, and thanks for the favs, follows and reviews. I already have 100+ follows and I never imagined I'd have so many!

This chapter is a bit short and kind of a filler so sorry about that.

To be honest, I had no idea where I was going with this story plot-wise when I wrote the first chapter. I was just struck by sudden inspiration to write about a Lothiriel who was incredibly thirsty for the King of Rohan, and you wouldn't believe I actually got inspired by the netflix show 'Chewing Gum' lol.

We're several chapters in and now I have a basic outline for the rest of the story and plot. I've got the next few chapters planned out too and they'll hopefully be longer and more exciting. Sorry I don't update faster but I will see this story through one way or another.

Anyways, hope you guys are all well and healthy. Stay safe!


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